


Watch Over Me

by Aini_NuFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable Castiel, Big Brother Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fledgling Castiel, Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:16:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How did you get in here?"</p><p>The kid canted his head to the side. "I flew." He turned a solemn look toward the shattered ceramic pieces and crumpled lamp shade. "I didn't land very well though."<br/>---------<br/>The Winchesters have seen their share of weird…but finding themselves saddled with a fledgling angel definitely takes the cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in response to a prompt from anon gifter, who wanted a kid!Cas fic. Lots of adorableness ahead, and h/c (of course). Hope you guys enjoy.  
> Set in season 6, after "The French Mistake," but there was never any soulless Sam. Chapters will update on Fridays.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

The world was a sea of black, browns, and grays, all swirling together in an eddy above Castiel's head. He blinked slowly, his thoughts sluggish, body numb. He was lying on something hard, and a chill had seeped up into his core. Where was he? What was wrong with him?

He tried to move, but every muscle in his body was stiff. Not only that, but there was something cold and metallic clamped around his wrists and ankles. Castiel lifted his head, but the minute effort darkened his vision completely for several long, agonizing moments. When light began to filter in again, he held himself perfectly still in order to ascertain his surroundings.

The grays solidified into concrete walls, the browns into oxidized windows. Castiel roved his gaze to the side; he was on the floor, hands and feet shackled. White lines of Enochican sigils surrounded him. Sigils that bound and weakened his grace. He couldn't even access angel radio.

Panic and confusion elevated his vessel's heart rate, and he tried to push himself upright, but couldn't seem to muster the strength.

"Ah, you're awake."

Castiel wrenched his head back to see who had arrived. An angel whose vessel was dressed in a casual suit, with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, strode forward to leer down at him. There didn't seem to be anyone else around.

"Obadiah, what are you doing?" Castiel asked, dread coiling around his stomach. Memory was trickling through the fog in his mind—he and Obadiah had met to discuss the recent recon mission on Raphael's forces. The report had been discouraging, and Obadiah had proposed using the recovered heavenly weapons to wipe out the lesser angels of Raphael's ranks. Castiel had refused…and he didn't remember anything after that.

Obadiah began to pace around him, skirting the edge of the warding that kept Castiel pinned and prone on the floor. "I need something from you, Castiel. The heavenly weapons will give us a desperately needed advantage over Raphael, and yet you refuse to use them."

"The weapons alone won't defeat Raphael," Castiel argued, tracking Obadiah's movements with his eyes. He hated being trapped like this, vulnerable and helpless. And he didn't understand; Obadiah was an ally, a friend.

"But they will cull his army."

Castiel shook his head, and gritted his teeth against the ensuing wave of dizziness. "Many of our brothers and sisters have been deceived, or are blindly following Raphael because they don't realize they have a choice. I will not engage in a wide-scale, fatal attack without giving them that choice."

"They would not think twice about ripping your wings off, Castiel," Obadiah snapped. The angel slowly lifted one hand to rub his shoulder, gaze going distant for a moment. "Pleas for mercy do not sway them."

Castiel frowned. "Who hurt you, Obadiah?"

The other angel angled his head down and sneered. "You think you are the only one to suffer Raphael's bite? I never agreed with Lucifer's rebellion, but I still loved our  _brother_. I prayed for his redemption. Raphael and his sycophants thought they needed to teach me a lesson for that."

Castiel's heart clenched with grief. Angels torturing other angels, instigating the Apocalypse intentionally…what had they become?

Obadiah resumed his pacing, steepling his fingers as a predatory glint gleamed in his eye. "I cannot touch Raphael, but I can see to it that the others are properly punished."

"If you use the heavenly weapons, you'll risk killing dozens of other angels as well," Castiel pressed, desperation tingeing his voice. If he could just get free…but each effort to move was met with an invisible vice holding him down.

"They should have chosen a different side."

"You cannot punish the masses for the transgressions of a few."

"They are all guilty!" Obadiah snarled. "They support Raphael and his ideology, and I will extinguish them from the face of the universe!" He stomped back around to loom over Castiel. "Now tell me where the weapons are!"

Castiel stared back up defiantly. "How are your methods here different from what they would do? Don't lower yourself to this, Obadiah, please."

Obadiah just shook his head. "This isn't personal, Castiel, and I take no pleasure from it. But I cannot let those monsters poison Heaven any longer, not when I finally have the means to stop them. So I need those weapons, and if you will not tell me, I'll just have to take the information…" He shifted to Castiel's side and knelt down, reaching into his suit coat to pull out a small glass container filled with a dark red, viscous looking liquid.

Castiel squirmed, trying to pull himself up, but the sigils on the ground included his name, making sure he stayed locked down tight. Obadiah uncapped the jar and dipped two fingers into the substance.

"What are you—"

Obadiah touched Castiel's forehead and traced a symbol with the cold unguent. "This will probably be easier on you if you don't resist." His voice dropped an octave as he began to chant in Enochian.

"Brother, please…" Castiel sucked in a sharp breath as static sizzles raced across his skin. The air crackled with electricity. "Don't—"

Obadiah pressed his fingers into the center of Castiel's forehead, and it was like a rod of lightning shooting through his brain. His back arched, muscles seizing. It felt as though Obadiah's hand was literally sinking into Castiel's flesh, burrowing into his mind. Thoughts, memories, and images flashed behind his eyes. Obadiah continued to chant the spell, fueling the power behind his will as he delved deeper, throwing aside those things that were of little use to him, dissecting anything that held promise. He was relentless, and each pursuit felt as though it was physically ripping Castiel apart.

In the space between spasms, he regained the presence of mind to at least attempt to shield himself. But the pain was all-encompassing, and Obadiah pushed back all the more forcefully. Castiel's mind was a whirlwind of chaos, each memory flashing faster and faster. Angel wings, blood, faces…bright light, fire, angel wings…blood, faces, tears.

A scream rent from his throat, and Castiel finally managed to lash out in a blind panic. His arm clobbered the other angel in the face. Obadiah broke physical contact and shot a hand out to catch himself, accidentally knocking over the jar of ichor in the process. The contents splattered across the ground. As soon as the liquid touched the lines of Enochian, it began running of its own accord to trace the same pattern, painting over the white in glowing red. It seeped underneath Castiel, growing hot and bright. Then it felt as though his grace was being pierced by dozens of knives. The pressure in the air increased until he couldn't breathe, and power swelled around him like a cocoon, swallowing Castiel in a supernova of white-hot energy. He could barely form a coherent thought outside the pain and frenzy.

He did notice when the sigiled cuffs around his wrists and ankles suddenly slid off, and on pure, desperate instinct, Castiel spread his wings and fled into the ether.

Flight did not bring relief, however, for the buffeting gales of wind and light beat at Castiel until he was tumbling in an uncontrolled spiral. He couldn't tell up from down, or where he was going…or even where he was trying to go. His wings flapped frantically, and the multi-colored aura filling his vision started to crack like fragile glass.

In the next instant, the ether vanished, and Castiel found himself plummeting through the air and striking the ground in a shower of dirt and broken branches. He landed flat on his back, chest heaving and white spots dancing across his vision. For a long moment, he just laid there admiring the stars that seemed close enough to touch. He even tried grabbing one, but it winked out and his fingers closed around empty air.

Finally, when the roar of pounding blood in his ears faded away and he was left in silence, Castiel turned his attention inward to take stock of himself. Everything…hurt. That was worrisome, though he wasn't sure why. Heavy fabric was weighing his limbs down, and he shrugged out of the top two layers. The rest of his clothes were torn and did not fit comfortably, so he fixed both with an eye blink.

He gazed around the towering redwoods and goldenrod maples, having no idea where he was. He sat in a pile of leaves for a long time, trying to figure it out, but nothing happened. It was peaceful, yet Castiel didn't exactly feel safe. He needed to leave, needed to get…somewhere.

There was a ping in the back of his mind, something that felt familiar. Castiel grasped for that thread, and prepared to leap.

* * *

"Son-of-a-bitch," Dean groused as he pushed open the passenger door of the Impala. The damn werewolf had dislocated his shoulder before they'd managed to gank it, and now every movement sent a dull throb through his abused joints.

"You should ice that," Sam said from the driver's seat. He'd popped the shoulder back in, of course, but still insisted on driving them back to the motel.

"Thank you, Dr. Winchester."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean bit back a groan as he climbed out and turned around to lean back in. "You'd better bring pie, Sam. I don't care if you have to drive to three different places to find some, I need pie."

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh. "You  _need_  an ice pack and some Advil. But I'll bring you pie, princess."

"Have you looked in the mirror? Get a haircut."

Sam arched a single brow. "Really? That's the best you can come up with? You must be in a lot of pain." It was amazing how his younger brother could manage to sound both sympathetic  _and_  unapologetically smug.

"Shut up." Dean swung the door closed, wincing as the movement triggered another spasm.

Sam waved before driving off, and once he'd pulled out of the drive, Dean let some of the exhaustion and pain he was feeling drag his shoulders down. He needed a drink, shower, and food. Possibly in that order.

He walked up to the motel room and fished the key from his pocket. He'd just fitted it in the lock when a crash sounded from inside. Dean whipped his gun out, forgetting about his injured shoulder. He swallowed an audible grunt. Crap, maybe he should call Sam to turn around.

Pressing his back to the wall, Dean started reaching for his phone, but noticed that no more sounds were coming from inside the room. A whole host of possibilities ran through his mind: angels, demons, monster, ghost. He glanced at the porch light mounted three feet away and noted it wasn't flickering. That didn't really guarantee anything though.

And shit, why was it so quiet all of a sudden? If someone like a witch was in there planting hex bags, Dean was so not waiting around to bust their ass. Wrenching the door handle, he charged inside, pistol up and aimed at whatever intruder had come after them. But there was no one standing in the room that Dean could see. His gaze flicked around in a quick survey, and narrowed on an overturned chair, broken lamp…and finally settled on a kid sprawled on the floor, palms holding himself up as he blinked dazedly.

"What the…"

The little boy looked up. "Hello."

Dean glanced over his shoulder, but the parking lot outside was empty. A quick check of the windows showed they were sealed. "How did you get in here?"

The kid canted his head to the side. "I flew." He turned a solemn look toward the shattered ceramic pieces and crumpled lamp shade. "I didn't land very well though."

Dean quickly lowered his gun, but didn't put it away. The boy couldn't have been more than four years old, and while he seemed harmless enough, Dean had dealt with monster children before. Although, if the most mischief this one was gonna cause was sneaking into people's rooms to jump on the bed, he wasn't all that threatening. Dean took in the kid's black slacks and white dress shirt, looking as though he'd been on his way to Sunday school and gotten lost. Except for the not wearing any shoes or socks.

"Where are your parents?" Dean asked. This was so not what he wanted to be dealing with at the end of a very long day.

The kid pursed his lips. "Mhm, I've never met Father, but Gabriel used to watch us. He was a lot more fun than Michael." The kid's face fell at that. "Gabriel's gone now."

Dean blinked incredulously.  _Gabriel? Michael?_  "Wait, you're an angel?"

The kid nodded, still half-lying on the floor.

If Dean's eyebrows could have risen any higher, he would no longer have any. "What, you couldn't find an adult vessel?"

The little angel tilted his head. "What's a vessel?"

"Uh, the kid you're wearing? And how the hell is he even old enough to give consent to be possessed?"

The boy looked down at himself and picked at his white dress shirt. "These clothes were too big when I woke up, so I made them smaller."

Dean just stared at him. When he woke up? Angels didn't sleep. But then, angels weren't usually this…muddled. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd think the angel inside that little boy was also a child. But he'd never heard of kid angels. Time to pass this one off to Cas.

He hesitated before sending up a prayer though, suspicion darkening his expression. "How did you find me anyway?"

The kid angel finally scampered off the floor and climbed on top of the bed so he was almost eye level with Dean. "You vibrate." He reached out a tiny hand and laid it on Dean's shoulder, where the handprint scar was hidden. Dean startled at the zing that sparked under the touch. The kid must have felt it too, because he smiled. "Dean."

"Uh, okay." This was getting weird.

The kid's expression changed again, turning somber as his voice pitched softer. "I shattered, and I couldn't find all the pieces, but I felt this one."

_What?_

Sad blue eyes blinked up at Dean, and he felt a familiar jolt of deja vu. No way… He ran his gaze over the clothes and head of dark, tousled hair. Dean swallowed hard. "Uh, what's your name?"

The kid did that telltale head tilt thing, brows knitting together in intense concentration. After a prolonged moment, his face lit up as though he'd just won a teddy bear at the carnival. "Castiel."

Dean reeled back. Oh,  _hell_  no.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta told me this chapter's cute factor requires a 'spew warning'—consume liquids while reading at your own risk.

Dean gaped at the little kid standing on the bed next to him. "Holy crap, Cas, are you shittin' me?"

Cas's face scrunched up in displeasure. "Don't blaspheme, Dean."

He blinked in bewilderment. "What? Cas, I'm being serious. Who turned Jimmy Novak into a four-year-old?" At least, Dean was pretty sure Cas's vessel was still Jimmy.

"Who's Jimmy Novak?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. What the hell…? Okay, whatever happened must have scrambled Cas's brain, and wasn't that just fantastic.

Cas put a finger under Dean's chin and pushed his jaw closed. "Gabriel says if lightning bugs fly in your mouth, they'll make your tummy glow." Cas giggled and hopped off the bed.

Dean stared dumbly. There was so much wrong here he didn't know where to start. "Cas, I need you to focus and tell me who did this to you. You're not supposed to be a kid, you get that, right?"

Cas held up his hands and inspected them seriously. "I'm supposed to be…taller?"

Dean snorted. "For starters."

Cas looked pensive for a long moment. "I'm supposed to be…fighting a war." His eyes rounded as he shot Dean a horrified look. "Why would I be fighting other angels?"

"Uh…well, Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse." Even as he said it out loud, Dean realized it was a superficial answer at best. And the sad truth was he didn't know all the details of the civil war in Heaven—hadn't bothered to ask or pay attention.

Cas's frown deepened. "Raphael…" Something flashed in his eyes and he started shaking his head violently. "No. Too many pieces. I don't want to be dust and bone and blood."

There was something about hearing a little boy's voice rattle with such fear that made Dean's heart drop into his stomach. Unbidden came the memory of a trashed living room and a molar getting picked out of Chuck's hair. And then Dean had gotten to see a repeat of the event first hand in Stull Cemetery when Lucifer had snapped his fingers and exploded Cas into micro bits.

"Did Raphael do this to you?" Dean asked carefully, lowering his voice in an attempt to keep the little angel calm. What had Cas said, that he'd 'shattered'? But he obviously wasn't in a million pieces…and if this was God's idea of a funny resurrection, Dean wasn't laughing.

Cas paused in his mini freak-out. "No," he said after a minute.

"Demons?"

Cas shook his head.

Dean sighed. "This is not helpful."

Cas's shoulders dropped in a sudden look of dejection. "I'm sorry."

Dean reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His shoulder was aching, he was exhausted, and kid-Cas was frankly weirding him out. "What's the last thing you remember before coming here?" he tried.

"Mhm…" Cas took a small step back and lowered his voice to a hushed whisper. "Pain."

Dean's stomach clenched. "And?"

Cas shook his head, expression completely closing off. His gaze started roving around the room instead, and that haunted look was soon replaced with curiosity. He didn't say anything, just seemed content in his own little world. Dean didn't know whether to try again or give up. Maybe if he gave it some time, Cas would snap out of it and turn himself back, or whatever spell he was under would wear off.

Shaking his head, he went to the mini fridge to grab a beer. Cas watched him silently, and that intense, I-can-see-into-your-soul gaze was just as unnerving coming from blue puppy-dog eyes as it was the stolid adult version. Dean paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Cas pursed his lips. "You drink a lot."

Oh, he was so not getting a lecture from a four-year-old. "Hey, I'm not the one who drank an entire liquor store."

Cas frowned. "That didn't feel so good after."

"You remember that?"

Cas merely blinked at him and went back to observing the room. Dean knocked back a swig in frustration. Okay, maybe he was a little worried too. But Cas would be okay; this couldn't be permanent…right?

Crap, he needed to do something. Setting his beer on the table, he righted the fallen chair from Cas's landing and then started picking up the pieces of broken lamp. Cas stepped forward as though to help, but Dean barked at him to stay back. The way the kid curled in on himself made Dean feel like a dick, which was really not fair. Cas shouldn't be getting his feelings hurt because Dean was being his normal abrasive self.

"You don't have any shoes on," Dean pointed out. And he did not want to test the angel's self-healing ability at the moment.

Cas glanced down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes, seemingly fascinated. Dean lifted his eyes to the ceiling. Why him?

He'd just finished cleaning up the mess when the rumble of the Impala's engine from down the block announced Sam's return, and thank god for that. Dean didn't know how much longer he could stand the awkwardness in the room by himself.

Headlights flashed through the blinds as the car parked right out front. There was the slamming of a door, and a moment later the latch of the room door clicked and Sam shouldered his way in, carrying a large paper bag with grease stains leaking through the bottom corner. The hearty aroma of french fries made Dean's stomach growl.

"Before you ask, yes I got pie," Sam started, and then pulled up short as Cas darted toward the bathroom and hugged the corner of the wall, watching Sam with wide, wary eyes. Sam shot a startled look between them. "Uh, Dean?"

Yeah, how the heck was he supposed to explain this? He didn't even know what  _this_  was. "It's, uh, Cas." Dean gestured helplessly at the kid.

Sam scoffed. "You're joking."

"God, I wish I were." He turned his attention back to Cas, and frowned at how scared he suddenly looked. "Cas, hey, this is Sam. You know Sam, right?" Dean really hoped so, because it seemed to be hit or miss on what and who Cas remembered.

"Sam," Cas repeated slowly. He cautiously stepped away from the wall. "I'm supposed to protect Sam."

Sam tossed another wide-eyed look at Dean, who suddenly had even more knots in his stomach. Shit, was someone coming after them as well?

"Protect Sam from what?"

Cas merely tilted his head and repeated, "I'm supposed to protect Sam. I'm supposed to protect Dean."

"Uh, okay." Sam set the bag of food on the dinette table. "Dean, what's going on?"

"I have no idea, man. I walked in and found him like this. It is Cas, that much I know. But it's weird—he doesn't remember some things, like who Jimmy Novak is."

"Is that…" Sam waved vaguely at the four-year-old. "Jimmy Novak?"

"It's gotta be, right?" Dean replied. "Shit, hell if I know, Sammy. And Cas hasn't said how he got like this. Every time I asked, he either tried to make me play Twenty Questions or didn't answer at all."

Sam turned toward the kid. "Hey, Cas, can you tell us what happened?"

Cas shook his head firmly.

"Can't because you don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?" Sam asked gently.

Cas just shook his head again, lips sealed tight.

"See what I've been dealing with?" Dean exclaimed, throwing his arm up. He grunted as his injured shoulder flared with pain. "Son-of-a-bitch," he muttered.

Sam frowned. "You didn't get a chance to ice, did you?"

"Not with the arrival of Rugrat angel, no," Dean snipped.

Cas's eyes widened. "You're hurt?"

"It's fine," he half-growled, and moved to his duffel bag to dig out some painkillers.

"I'll make it better." Cas ran over, and before Dean could straighten, two little fingers had touched his forehead. Dean had been healed by Cas before, and it was always an instantaneous, one moment there was pain, the next there was none. This time a flood of hot energy surged through him, sweltering as though he were suddenly standing next to a bonfire. The force of it knocked him on his ass, and in the resulting shockwave, the television exploded.

Dean flinched and Sam threw his arms up to shield his face. The television had smacked the wall, leaving a dent, and now the fried box was oozing tendrils of smoke from various cracks. The brothers exchanged alarmed looks, then shifted their gazes to Cas, who was lying flat on his back on the floor.

"Cas?" Dean called worriedly, and crawled over to shake the kid's shoulder.

Cas blinked up at him. "Ow."

Sam knelt down beside them. "What the hell was that?"

Dean distantly realized the pain in his shoulder was gone, and he rolled it to test the joint. Yup, fully healed. Actually, every ache was gone, and not only that, but Dean didn't even feel tired anymore. He felt more like he'd just had eight hours of uninterrupted, nightmare-free sleep.

"I think Cas overdid it on the healing there," Dean said, having no better theory at the moment. He gripped the kid's shoulder and helped sit him up.

"Sorry," Cas said sheepishly. He lifted his small hands to stare at them as though they'd committed some egregious offense.

Sam had one of those pensive creases in his forehead. "I hate to say it, but maybe we need to call another angel for this."

Dean held back a groan. He really hated dealing with those dicks.

"No!" Cas scrambled backwards away from them.

"Cas, whoa, take it easy." Dean got to his feet, as did Sam.

"You don't want to call an angel?" his brother asked.

Cas shook his head. "No, please don't," he pleaded.

Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did another angel do this to you?"

Cas scampered to his feet and retreated to the corner between the bed and the window, mouth clamped shut again.

"Come on, Cas, you gotta give us something to work with!"

Cas tucked his arms around his middle tightly, as though trying to make himself as small as possible. "Are you angry? Why are you angry?"

Dean's mouth dropped open.  _What?_

"Dean's not angry," Sam jumped in with a soothing voice, while managing to shoot Dean a chastising glare. He cautiously approached the bed and eased himself down on the edge so he wouldn't tower over the kid. "Isn't that right, Dean?"

Dean ran a hand over his hair and resisted rolling his eyes. "I'm not angry."

"You don't sound not-angry," Cas said quietly, and damn he seemed so pitiful that Dean's heart clenched.

"I'm not," he reiterated. "I'm…I'm just worried."

"And you know when Dean gets worried, he puts up a brave front that can sometimes look and sound mad," Sam continued in that overly patient tone. "But it's only to make the bad guys think twice about threatening us."

Cas nodded slowly, and finally uncurled himself. "Bad guys should be afraid of Dean."

Sam's lips twitched. "Yes they should."

Now Dean rolled his eyes. "Can we get back to the problem of what to do here?"

Sam turned a considering look on Cas again. "Hey, Cas, I have some paper and pencils; want to draw something for Dean?"

Cas canted his head as though unsure, but then nodded. Dean just gaped, at a loss for words as his brother dug out a memo pad and pencil and set them on the bed. Cas climbed up and lay down on his stomach, picking up the pencil with a tentative grip, as though not sure how to use it. When Sam moved away, Dean shot him a 'what-the-hell' look.

Sam shrugged. "Child therapists use drawing as a way to get kids to express themselves when they're afraid, or don't know how to use words to describe what they're feeling."

"Cas isn't a kid, Sam."

"Actually, Dean, I think he is. At least right now. I don't know if it's because his vessel is so young, or if his grace has been regressed too…but the way Cas is processing things is with the mind of a child. We're gonna have to be patient here." He let out a long breath and lowered his voice. "I wish we could call an angel, as I'm pretty sure they're the only ones who would have a clue what's going on, but until we know which ones we can trust, it's probably a bad idea."

"So, what, we're supposed to become angel nannies? For how long?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "We could call Bobby; at least he'd get a start looking into the lore."

Dean glanced back at Cas, who had made a few strokes on the page and was currently staring at it with one eye squinting and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, alright. And I'll stay up to watch the kid angel. That healing boost was worth sixteen cups of coffee."

Sam arched a brow. "You sure?"

"Yeah." It wasn't like they could leave Cas unsupervised, and Sam looked beat.

His little brother nodded. "I'll call Bobby. That boost get rid of your hunger too? 'Cause food's getting cold."

"You said you got pie?"

Sam let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes."

"Then hunger ain't a factor."

"Neither is nutrition."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

"Ass-butt," a small voice piped up.

Both of them turned to Cas, but the kid didn't even look up from his drawing. Sam shook his head with a chuckle, and stepped outside to make that phone call. Dean opened the paper bag and started unpacking the contents. Lukewarm french fries were not that appetizing, but Dean could eat a burger cold without reservation.

Sam came back and sat across the table from him. "I left a message."

Dean nodded, and they both dug into their dinners. Cas hardly made a sound save for the scritching of pencil on paper. Heck, if he would always be this quiet, Dean thought they could manage with the whole angel babysitting thing. Until they caught another case…

"Okay, I'm hitting the sack," Sam said after finishing his meal. "Wake me if you need anything."

Dean saluted, mouth still full. He pulled Sam's laptop over and started doing a search on age-regression spells. Big surprise, there wasn't much. He typed in 'care for baby angels,' just because, and had to scroll through several diaper-changing blog posts before he found something actually relevant. For one thing, baby angels were called 'fledglings,' so he was able to revise his search with that term instead. But that's where the helpfulness ended.

Sighing, Dean turned from the laptop to take another bite of pie, and stiffened when he found Cas standing across the table, peeking through the slats of the other chair. He was doing that annoying staring thing again. Dean frowned, and glanced down at his pie, then back at Cas, tracking the direction of his gaze. The kid nipped at his bottom lip.

"You wanna try a bite?" Dean prompted.

Cas nodded hesitantly. Dean cut off a piece with his fork and transferred it to a napkin. Cas inched around the chair cautiously, as though he either wasn't sure he really wanted to try it, or he was afraid Dean would snatch it back in an instant. Dean decided to sit perfectly still as Cas reached for the chunk of pie and popped it in his mouth. The kid chewed for a very long time, face scrunched up in serious contemplation. Dean rolled his eyes.

Cas finally swallowed, and a bright grin cracked his face. He climbed into the chair and looked at Dean expectantly.

"You like that, huh?"

Cas nodded, this time enthusiastically.

Dean grabbed the crumpled paper bag and dug out an extra spork. Then he cut the slice of pie in half and pushed one piece toward the little angel. He didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused at suddenly having to share his pie, with Cas of all people. How many times had Dean tried to get the angel to enjoy some of the finer things this side of humanity? But Cas had been too much of a stick-in-the-mud, barring that one time with Famine and hamburgers. Now, though, Dean watched him devour the apple pie as heartily as Dean would, and he felt his mouth quirk. So maybe he didn't mind sharing…just this once.

When the pie was gone, Dean leaned back and cast a look toward the bed. "Wanna show me what you drew?"

Cas bounded off the chair and over to the bed to retrieve the paper, which he then presented to Dean proudly. Dean's brows shot up as he took in the incredibly accurate rendering of himself, done in shades of gray lead that covered the full page. The corners were the darkest where Cas had pressed the pencil down roughly. They lightened gradually toward the center where Dean stood, hands cupped around something he held closely to his chest. It was amazing, how the use of value made the object in Dean's hands appear to glow, and there was an aura of light around his head too.

"Uh, wow, Cas," he finally managed to say.

"Your soul has more colors than that," Cas finally spoke. "But I didn't have any." He came around to stand at Dean's knee and started pointing to various parts of the drawing. "This here is deep green, like the forest. And this here is soft yellow, like daffodils. This has traces of red and murky brown, because you've been through more than a human soul should have to bear, and it's scarred."

Dean's gut tightened at that. He'd always known Hell had left him…damaged.

Cas rambled on obliviously. "But this is silver, because your soul is still pure and you're the Righteous Man." He stopped, and looked up at Dean tentatively, as though waiting for approval or criticism.

Dean swallowed around the lump growing in his throat. "You see all that, huh?"

Cas nodded solemnly, shifting his weight anxiously as he glanced back at the drawing.

Dean forced a smile. "It's incredible, Cas. Can I keep it?"

Cas beamed. "I made it for you."

"Thanks, man." Dean gingerly set it on the table, away from the leftover food wrappers and greasy napkins. "Want to draw something for Sam next?"

In answer, Cas turned and scurried back to the bed to retrieve the paper and pencil and bring it back to the table. Dean sifted through their bags until he found a blue ink pen to add. It wasn't much, but Cas seemed to appreciate the extra bit of color. Dean sat there watching the little angel go to town on his drawing, feeling something inexplicably warm unfurl in his chest. And when Cas pushed a blank sheet of paper his way, Dean took up a pencil as well.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke to the sound of suppressed giggling and low murmur of chatter. Rolling over, he spotted Cas sitting cross-legged on the other bed in front of the laptop. He couldn't see exactly what was playing on the screen, but from the 'beeps' and 'dongs,' it sounded like cartoons. Sam twisted to see the clock, and found it was almost seven.

"Morning, Sam," Cas said cheerfully.

Sam smiled. "Morning. What ya watching there?"

Cas shrugged. "I don't know, but it's funny. The bird represents God. And coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine, yet never able to catch him."

Sam blinked. _What?_ He leaned over and caught a glimpse of Coyote getting an anvil dropped on his head. Ookay… At least Dean had him watching cartoons and not something like Dr. Sexy.

He pushed himself up and halted in disbelief; half a dozen sketches littered the floor, all expertly rendered with such detail that they could have hung in a gallery…had they been done on a nicer canvas than yellow memo pad paper. There were a few of Dean and Sam, and then there were more abstract pieces and fractal patterns. Had Cas really done all of these?

The door handle turned at that moment, and a second later Dean was pushing his way in, arms loaded with a paper bag and tray of coffee. He nodded a greeting toward Sam as he set the food on the table.

"Hey, Cas, I got you a maple donut."

Cas scooted off the bed eagerly and went to take a seat at the table. Sam lifted his brows at his brother, who shrugged and proceeded to set the donut out on a napkin for the angel. Then he cocked his head for him and Sam to move a few paces away. The cartoons were still playing, serving as background noise to obscure their little pow-wow.

"So everything was okay last night?" Sam asked.

"Model kid, though it would've been nice if he had slept some." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "At least the drawing kept him occupied for a while."

Sam gestured at the scattered sketches. "He's quite the little Rembrandt, isn't he?"

Dean let out a small laugh. "No kidding." He cast a cautious look back at the angel before pulling a piece of folded paper from his jacket. "He drew this too, but when I asked him what it was, he wouldn't say. He'd go on and on about every other drawing except this one."

Sam took the sheet and studied the intricate symbol. He'd never seen it before, though it shared some stylistic strokes as Enochian. "So maybe this is somehow related to what turned him into a kid."

"I sent a picture to Bobby, but it's not like he's fluent in that shit," Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam glanced at Cas, who was happily consuming the donut and licking sticky fingers between bites. "Look, we need an angel's opinion," he said in a low voice.

"Yeah, but you saw how freaked Cas was last night. We can't do that to him," Dean protested, and Sam bit back a smile at how quickly Dean had switched his stance on the matter; Sam knew that protective older brother would come out eventually.

"Which is why I'll go somewhere else to summon Balthazar. Cas considers him a friend, and I think he's our best shot at this point."

"And if Balthazar's the bastard that did this?" Dean hissed.

"Then I'll make him tell us how to fix it. We've got the holy oil, and an angel blade. But he might also be able to help," Sam pointed out. "Look, why don't you take Cas out, get him some other clothes, for starters, and shoes, since we don't know how long he'll be like this. And bring up Balthazar in a casual way, see what Cas's reaction is."

Dean looked torn. "Maybe I should be the one to summon the dickbag…"

"I can handle it, Dean. And I won't tell Balthazar about Cas unless I have to."

Dean's mouth thinned into a tight line, and his gaze drifted back to Cas. Sam watched with fond amusement as the hard lines in his brother's expression softened at the sight of the kid angel. Dean hated to be called a 'mother hen,' even though that's exactly what he was.

"Alright. I'll take him shopping. Be careful though."

Sam nodded seriously, then jerked his attention to Cas, who was drinking from one of the coffee cups. "Cas!"

The kid jolted back, a bit of brown liquid dribbling down his chin. He blinked owlishly in confusion as Sam marched over and took the coffee away.

"You shouldn't be drinking that," Sam explained kindly.

"You and Dean do."

"Yeah, well, we're adults."

Cas canted his head to the side. "I'm an angel."

Sam heard Dean snickering behind him, so he turned and shoved the used cup in his brother's hands. "If he gets wired, you're the one who's gonna have to deal with it."

Dean's smirk slowly faded as he seemed to consider that. "I'll get you a hot chocolate while we're out, okay?"

Cas straightened, wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve. "We're going out?"

"Yup." Dean grabbed his own donut from the bag. "You need better clothes, and shoes."

Cas looked down at his bare feet and wiggled his toes. "Why?"

"Because…you just do. Trust me, okay?"

"I trust you, Dean." The gravity with which Cas said it sounded so much like his old self, that the mood in the room dropped considerably.

Dean cleared his throat. "Right then. Finish your donut and we'll go."

All three of them ate their breakfast silently after that. Then Sam walked them out to the Impala so he could get the holy oil and ingredients for the angel summoning spell from the trunk, and watched with poorly concealed amusement as Dean argued with Cas about putting on a seatbelt.

"You never use it," the little angel replied.

In the end, Dean had to buckle up as well in order to get Cas to comply.

"Good luck," Sam called, half-joking, half-serious.

"You too," Dean returned before driving off.

Sam went back inside the motel room to get his jacket, and almost stepped on one of Cas's drawings. They were so artistic that it seemed inappropriate to leave them on the floor where they could accidentally be damaged. Getting down on his hands and knees, Sam started gathering them up. He paused at one sheet of him and Dean, standing shoulder to shoulder, angled slightly away as though presenting a unified front against the world. Their expressions were set and hard, but with strength and resolve, and dare he say…courage. Sam's breath was taken away at how much emotion and nuance Cas had been able to convey in those simple strokes and shading.

He was about to put it in the stack, when a faint line inside the shadows at the top of the page caught his eye. At first he'd thought Cas had shaded in the top, maybe as clouds, or darkness representing whatever monsters the Winchesters always fought, or maybe just to emphasize the highlights in the brothers' profiles. But underneath the heavily shaded lead were lighter strokes, barely visible. And they looked like _wings_. Wings that were spread above Sam and Dean, tips curling down in a protective canopy.

Sam stared at the image for several long moments. Castiel, their guardian angel. The one who'd raised them both from Hell, who'd fallen for them and risen again. When they'd first met the angel, and then during the Apocalypse, it'd taken time for Sam and Cas to come to a sort of neutral acceptance of each other. Cas had always had more of a connection with Dean, anyway. Now though, the knowledge that Cas viewed Sam with the same level of devotion…it was touching. And made Sam realize that even though things had been strained between the three of them lately with Cas not being around as much, the angel still cared, even if adult-Cas didn't always know how to show it. It said a lot, really, that kid-Cas's own expression of devotion was concealed in shadows within the drawing.

But Sam would have to give all that more thought later. Right now their best friend needed help. So Sam finished picking up the sketches, and reverently placed them between the pages of another notebook, which he then tucked into the sleeve of his laptop bag where they wouldn't get bent or creased or splattered with coffee. With that, he readied himself for the somewhat unpleasant task of summoning an angel who was a dick at best, and volatile at worst.

There was an abandoned auto dealer a block down from the motel, so that's where Sam headed with his stuffed backpack to perform the summoning ritual. The lot in back was shielded from view of the street, and offered as much privacy as Sam was going to find without breaking into the show room, which had too many large windows anyway.

He set the backpack on the ground and began unpacking its contents—white chalk, herbs, candles. He drew the necessary sigil, followed by Enochian in four quadrants outside the central circle. On top of those, Sam placed the candles and lit them. Then he set out a bowl and dumped the requisite herbs and petals in it. Lastly, he poured a ring of holy oil around the perimeter as insurance; all he would have to do to light it would be to knock over one of the candles. Which meant that the only thing left to do now was summon the angel.

Taking a deep breath, Sam struck a match and dropped it into the bowl, igniting the contents. The subsequent puff of wind and swish of wings was instantaneous, and there was the tall Brit standing in the middle of the lot, directly across from Sam.

Balthazar's brows rose as he took in the Winchester. "You'd better have a good excuse for pulling that summoning crap with me."

Sam lifted his chin. "Sorry, but I needed an angel's help, and Cas has repeatedly said he's too busy to be bothered." The lie probably could have been delivered with more bite, but Sam was beginning to suspect that the war Cas was so desperately fighting was yet another unseen gesture to protect the Winchesters, something they took for granted.

"Well I'm busy too," Balthazar snapped, and shifted his weight as though to fly off.

"Wait! Please," Sam begged. He could have lit the holy oil, but he'd rather use it as a last resort. "I think this is important," he insisted, and pulled out the paper with the sigil Cas had drawn and held it up. "Do you know what this is?"

Balthazar made an impatient noise as he glanced at the page. Then his eyes flashed, and suddenly he surged forward, grabbing a fistful of Sam's shirt. "Where did you get that?" His abrupt movement ended up knocking over the bowl of herbs, and the simmering flames spilled over the line of holy oil, whooshing up into a wall of fire. Balthazar jerked his head around, and Sam took the brief distraction to wrench free and jump outside the now low-simmering ring, which didn't have any power over _him_. But crap, this was not how things were supposed to go.

Balthazar's nostrils flared as he whirled back toward Sam. "I will squash you, you insignificant little ant!"

Sam threw his palms up placatingly. "Okay, this looks bad, but I didn't intend to actually light that. It was just for protection."

Balthazar took a menacing step forward. "Then. Put. It. Out," he seethed.

Sam gulped. "First, I need some answers." He held up the drawing again. "What is this? And why did you react like that when I showed it to you?"

The angel glowered at him fiercely for a very long moment. "It's an angel trap," he finally spat. "And that—" he gestured sharply at the piece of paper, "—has Castiel's name in it."

Sam's eyes widened, and he glanced at the page again. "What?" He wanted to ask which part was Cas's name, but that wasn't really the most important issue at the moment. "What does Cas's name in it mean?"

Balthazar eyed him suspiciously. "It means that if he were caught in it, his grace would be completely bound and weakened. He'd be unable to fight back against any attackers who used it." The angel took another step closer, coming up to the edge of the flames, and the back of Sam's neck prickled with static. "And since Castiel has been missing since yesterday, I have to wonder what exactly _you're_ doing with that."

Sam huffed. "If I'd known what it was, I wouldn't have called you to ask." He hesitated. "What makes you say Cas is missing? If it's only been a day since you've seen him—"

"Since _anyone_ has seen him," Balthazar interrupted. "And the only reason Castiel would miss a crucial briefing was if _you_ and your moronic brother called him for help." Balthazar spread his arms. "So if he's not with you, he's _missing_. Now why don't you tell me where you got that sigil? I doubt Castiel would've told you how to completely bind him. He may trust you, but he's not a masochist. Well, not unless there's some noble cause involved."

Sam swallowed hard; guess he was gonna have to go all-in after all. At least he had the upper-hand. "Cas did draw this; he's with us."

Balthazar's expression shifted from minor disbelief to hardened detachment. "I see. So this is an interrogation? A test? Castiel couldn't question my loyalty to my face so he had to send his pet ape to do it?"

"Cas was attacked by an angel who used this sigil on him," Sam explained. "He's…really messed up, and wouldn't let us call _any_ angel for help. Now, despite your questionable morals buying up a kid's soul, I think you actually care for Cas. So do I. So I think you can understand why _I_ have to be sure of your loyalty before I tell you more."

Balthazar didn't say anything for a long moment, and then crossed his arms. "Castiel believes someone on our side betrayed him," he said flatly.

"It seems that way, but we honestly don't know; Cas hasn't been able to tell us much."

Balthazar's posture stiffened, and the air pressure seemed to increase. "That bloody bastard," he muttered to himself before snapping his gaze back to Sam. "How badly is he hurt?"

The angel was definitely still pissed, but Sam recognized that tone—it was the same one he'd explained to Cas the night before that meant worry was underlying all that anger; Balthazar did care about Cas.

Sam grimaced. "Not hurt exactly. He's been turned into a kid."

Balthazar's brows rose a fraction. "He was forced to take another vessel?"

"No, his vessel—Jimmy Novak—got transformed into a four-year-old, and whatever spell did it to him must have screwed with Cas's grace, because his mind is now like a child's too. He's too scared to talk about what happened, but he drew this symbol, and I thought maybe it was some kind of spell to de-age an angel. But if it's only how to trap him…"

Balthazar was still staring at him with supreme skepticism. Sam took a deep breath, and hoped he was doing the right thing. Scuffing dirt onto the holy fire, he broke the line so Balthazar could step out. Then Sam backed up and very slowly reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

"I'm gonna call Dean and see if he's had a chance to talk to Cas about seeing you, specifically. I don't want us to just show up and risk freaking him out."

A muscle in Balthazar's cheek twitched. "Fine."

Sam nodded and hit speed dial. Balthazar hadn't sounded as though he fully believed Sam, so maybe the angel would have no clue how Cas became a fledgling. But it was the only recourse they had at the moment. Sam just hoped that Cas would trust Balthazar—and that mother bear Dean would let the otherwise smarmy angel near him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That amazing piece of fanart based on this chapter is by 29-pieces-of-me. http://www.deviantart.com/art/Watch-Over-Me-577484165  
> And Merry Christmas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2016! Some more majorly adorable Cas with squee factors here. *g*

Dean drove to the local Walmart where he could get Cas some clothes and shoes with one stop. He parked the Impala halfway down the lot from the store entrance—damn those compact car spaces—and unbuckled his seatbelt before reaching over to help Cas undo his. The kid angel then tried to get the passenger door open, without success. Dean chuckled at Cas's look of frustration, but when he vanished in a flutter of wings, Dean's heart jolted and he barreled out of the car.

"Cas! Get back here right now!" Dean spun in a full circle, frantically searching for the angel to reappear. He didn't know why, but the thought of losing Cas now scared the shit out of him.

He rounded the back of the Impala and pulled up short. Cas was sitting on the pavement just outside the passenger door, much like he'd been when Dean first found him in the motel room. The kid looked up at Dean with a confused, slightly hurt expression.

"Why can't I fly right? I used to be the fastest angel in my garrison. Now my wings don't work."

Dean sighed, and closed the distance to crouch down next to him. "It won't always be like this, okay buddy? Me and Sam are gonna fix it." _Somehow_. He took Cas's arm and helped him stand, noting the tear in the black slacks above one knee. Dean stayed on the ground to examine it, but didn't see any blood. Then he looked at Cas's bare feet and the several-yard walk to the store. Lifting his eyes to the sky, Dean picked Cas up and carried him. Cas didn't protest, and in fact was still looking melancholic over his wings.

They entered the store, and Dean headed for the kids shoe department first. "Hey, Cas, look at these. They light up when you walk."

Cas tilted his head at the dark blue sneakers as Dean put pressure on the soles to get the LED lights to flash lime green. Cas's eyes widened. "They put lightning bugs in shoes?"

"What? No, they…" He bit back his explanation of wires and friction to generate bursts of electricity. "Um, it's shoe fairies."

Cas angled the most serious, doubting look at him Dean had ever seen. "There's no such thing."

He resisted rolling his eyes. "Right, let's just find your size." He set Cas down on the tiny stool with slanted mirrors, and then grabbed three boxes off the shelf. Cas watched with fascination as Dean held the bottom of each shoe up against Cas's foot to narrow down the right size. Once he'd figured that out, he slipped them on Cas's feet and tied the laces.

"Walk around and see how they feel," Dean said, and started putting the wrong sizes back in their boxes.

Cas hopped off the stool and bounced around, head craned down to watch the LED lights flash with each step.

"They pinch anywhere?" Dean asked.

Cas shook his head, but Dean motioned him closer so he could check for himself.

"Okay, now clothes." He took Cas's hand and led him across the aisle to the clothing section. Cas hopped and skipped beside him, obsessed with the new shoes. While Cas was preoccupied with them, Dean rifled through the clothes racks, occasionally pulling out a pair of jeans or shirt and holding them up to Cas to try gauging his size. He'd tried asking Cas what he liked, but the kid had just stared at him owlishly. Right, it wasn't like adult Cas ever changed his wardrobe either.

Dean finally picked out a pair of black jeans and a dark blue, long sleeve shirt. He remembered to grab a pair of socks on the way to the register where they stood in line to pay. Dean's eyes roved the checkout racks, and paused on a section of school supplies, specifically a hanger with boxes of colored pencils.

Dean glanced at Cas, who was also looking around at everything curiously. On impulse, Dean grabbed a box of the colored pencils and added it to the conveyor belt before Cas could notice. There probably wasn't much point; Sam would get answers from Balthazar and Cas would be back to his normal self in no time. And yet…Dean couldn't _not_ buy the pencils. Just in case.

After paying for everything, Dean ushered Cas to the nearest dressing room and told him to change into the new stuff. He waited outside, holding the door closed for several minutes before finally knocking. "Cas, hey, you okay?"

"'M stuck."

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh and opened the door. Thankfully, Cas had managed to get the jeans on no problem, but his arms had gotten tangled in the long sleeves of the shirt. "Okay, let me help." Dean knelt down and guided Cas's arms through the appropriate openings, then tugged the shirt down to smooth it out. "Right, glad it fits." He ripped off the tags and stuck them in the shopping bag, then helped Cas into the shoes and socks. "Now we can go."

"For hot chocolate?" Cas asked hopefully.

Dean couldn't help but smile. "I did promise that, didn't I?" As they walked out of the store, Dean checked his phone; there were no messages from Sam. He hoped the confrontation with Balthazar was going okay. Which reminded Dean that he needed to bring up the dick-angel to Cas and see how he reacted. Something Dean wasn't really looking forward to.

He drove to a drive-thru coffee shop he'd seen between their motel and the Walmart, bought a hot chocolate for each of them, and then parked across the street at a park. This time he leaned over to open the door for Cas, who slid out and bounded onto the grass, taking a deep breath of the fresh air.

"I like gardens," he announced. "There's a garden in Heaven I like to sit in. It belongs to an autistic man, but I don't think he minds me visiting."

Dean paused, taken aback by that little tidbit, though he didn't know why. Maybe because after how long he'd known Cas, he'd never really known anything personal about his angel friend.

"Yeah? Why do you like it?" He led Cas to a picnic table where he set their cups of hot chocolate. There was a grove of trees to the left, and on their other side a playground with a bunch of children the same age as Cas playing on the swings and slides while their mothers chatted and watched. Dean wondered for a brief moment if Cas would want to play with them.

Cas climbed onto the bench and wrapped both of his tiny hands around the to-go cup. "It's quiet and pretty." He paused, and then lowered his voice. "Well, it was. Raphael knocked me down and got blood on the garden."

Dean stiffened. The way Cas said it, one would think he was talking about a bully at recess, but Dean knew that was probably a grossly understated analogy. "He did what? When was this?"

Cas's gaze went distant, as though he were passively recalling the memory. "After he told me to kneel and I said no." His brow furrowed. "I don't know why I said that. I think…it would have been bad for you and Sam."

_"Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven."_

_"And what happens if Raphael wins? What does he want?"_

_"What he's always wanted—to end the story the way it was written."_

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. Cas had stood against an archangel—the one that had killed him once before—because he didn't want to see all their hard work to divert the Apocalypse be for nothing, for all of their sacrifices to be for nothing. And it sounded like Cas had gotten the shit kicked out of him for it, too.

Dean opened his mouth to apologize, but decided against it. He didn't think Cas would truly understand while he was like this. So when he was back to normal, then Dean would have a long overdue talk with his best friend.

Dean cleared his throat. "So how do you like hot chocolate?" he asked instead.

Cas beamed over the rim of the cup. "Better than your coffee."

Dean's brows shot up, and he wondered whether he should be offended by that. But he just grinned in return and shook his head in amusement. How many times had he tried to get Cas to lighten up, kick back and have a beer? There'd been the 'den of iniquity'—which Dean was _so_ not taking four-year-old Cas to. Oh well, there was something to be said for hot chocolate and sitting in a park with the laughter of children ringing in the background. It'd actually been a while since Dean had taken such a break from the stressful, hectic paced life of hunting and saving the world.

Except this wasn't really a break, and he had a pressing case sitting right in front of him. Dean took a deep breath. "Think Balthazar would like hot chocolate?" He winced at the lame transition, but was relieved Cas didn't automatically respond to the name with fear.

Instead, Cas's forehead crinkled further. "Mhm, he likes alcohol as much as you do."

Dean rolled his eyes, not exactly keen on having anything in common with that dickwad. "We could invite him to try some," he mentioned cautiously.

Cas let out a small chortle. "He doesn't like you. He calls you names Michael said we're not supposed to use."

Dean nearly choked on his drink. That so? Well, fine, he had a few choice adjectives for that pompous angel as well…though nothing he was currently going to say in front of Cas. At this rate, the kid angel would probably repeat everything back to the SOB, and Dean didn't need to give the douche-angel any more reasons to smite him. "Okay, but Balthazar likes you, right? You're friends?"

Cas nodded. "I was really sad when he died, but then he came back!"

Well, all this was a good sign. Dean still felt reticent, though, about bringing Balthazar into this. Yet what choice did they have?

Cas abruptly pushed his cup away and started squirming on the bench seat, rolling his shoulders and biting his lip.

"You got ants in your pants?" As soon as the joke left his mouth, Dean blanched at the thought that Cas might have to use the bathroom. Angels never needed to, but then, this whole fledgling thing was completely unchartered territory.

"It's too tight," Cas whined, tugging at his collar.

Dean frowned. "No it's not." He leaned over to test it himself, just in case this freaky universe included baby angels growing a few inches within minutes, but the shirt was just as loose fitting as it was when he'd bought it. Cas, however, still had his face scrunched up in apparent discomfort. Then the kid leaned his head back, mouth opening wide, and rocked forward again with a violent sneeze.

Dean would have laughed at the shocked expression on Cas's face—if his own wasn't equally stupefied by the pair of wings that had suddenly materialized behind Cas. They were much smaller than the shadowed wingspans Dean remembered seeing before. Which made sense, if Cas was a fledgling. These wings extended only about two feet on either side, with the longer primaries a deep, onyx black that moved down to blend into splotched areas of silver gray and pure white.

Cas craned his neck over his shoulder to look at them, and his brows knit together. "They're not supposed to be that color."

Dean snapped out of his stupor. "Shit, Cas, put those away before someone sees!"

Cas stared behind him at the wings as though he could bore laser holes through them, but they were not disappearing. Dean shot a frantic look toward the playground where a bunch of kids and their mothers were still congregated. Darting out of his seat, he hurried around the table to block their view of Cas, his mouth dropping open as he caught sight of the wings poking through two slits in the back of Cas's new shirt. Dean should've bought a spare.

He picked Cas up and carried him toward the grove of trees. Once they were out of sight, Dean set him on the ground and crouched down to look at him on the same eye level. "Cas, man, I'm serious, you gotta make those invisible."

The wings flexed up and down, and Cas's mouth disappeared in a thin line. "I don't know how."

_Oh, you've_ got _to be kidding_. Dean rubbed a hand down his face, and glanced around to make sure they were still alone. "Please just try? If anyone sees them…it could be bad, okay?"

The wings folded down behind Cas's back. "Because they're ugly," he said in a pitiful voice.

"What? No, they're not ugly." What the hell was that about? His phone started ringing, and Dean fished it out of his pocket in a hurry. It was Sam. He hit the answer button and put the cell to his ear. "Please tell me you have something."

" _Yes and no,_ " Sam replied, a hesitant catch in his voice. " _But I'm hoping Balthazar can help. Did you, uh, get a chance to talk to Cas?_ "

Dean glanced at the kid angel, whose wings were twitching almost self-consciously. "Yeah, the name didn't trigger anything. You trust him though?"

There was a pause on the other end, and Dean wondered if Balthazar was standing right there. " _Yeah_."

"Good, because Cas just sneezed his wings into existence and I can't get him to make them disappear."

"They itch," Cas said petulantly, feathers bristling.

" _He what?_ " Sam exclaimed.

"We're at King Park, behind the trees near the picnic tables," Dean said in response. "Tell douche-angel if he wants to help, he won't waste any time getting here."

Dean hadn't completed hanging up when the flutter of wings intruded on them. Dean tensed, just in case seeing Balthazar triggered a different reaction in Cas than talking about him, but Cas didn't immediately freak out. Instead, he was staring up at the British angel, who had thankfully brought Sam along.

Cas canted his head. "You're taller than I remember."

Balthazar continued to gape, apparently dumbfounded. "Bloody hell," he uttered. "What did you hairless apes _do_?"

"Hey," Dean snapped, surging to his feet. "We didn't do anything except try to help Cas, who came to _us_ after getting whammied by _another_ _angel_."

"Guys!" Sam shouted, and then quickly resumed a calmer tone as he nodded to Cas. "Can we focus on the wings first?"

They all returned their attention to Cas, who had stepped back a few feet and had his wings curled around the front of his shoulders, tightly hugging himself as he stared pointedly at the ground.

Balthazar huffed out a breath. "Right. Hey, Cas."

Cas looked up shyly and gave him a small smile. "Hello, Balthazar."

"You seem to be in quite the pickle."

Cas heaved a heavy sigh. "My wings are all wrong. They won't fly right, and the color's _wrong_ , and they itch."

Balthazar looked at Cas for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally said with uncharacteristic gentleness. "I can see that. I'll do whatever I can to fix them, but first you have to put them back in the ethereal plane where they belong."

Cas cocked his head. "How?"

The older angel blinked. "Uh…you just…shit, it's been millennia since we had these lessons."

"You mean you angels were actually young once?" Sam asked.

Balthazar shot him a wry look. "Long before you lot crawled out of the primordial ooze."

Dean waved his hand impatiently at both of them, in between glances back toward the playground. The longer Cas was exposed like this, the more nervous he was becoming.

"Okay," Balthazar went on. "How about, uh, I help?"

Cas didn't reply, so Balthazar moved closer and knelt down in front of the little angel. "You hear the chords of the ether?" Cas nodded. "Okay, picture the aura of your wings; they should be pulsating at a specific frequency in tune with the physical plane. You just need to shift it so it's vibrating with the ethereal one."

Dean exchanged a piqued look with Sam. That was some interesting wing tidbits there.

Cas's face screwed up in concentration, and Dean tried not to pace apprehensively while they waited for it to work. But finally, the wings started to shimmer iridescently, and gradually flickered out of sight.

Balthazar stood up and turned back to the Winchesters. "I suggest we find a more private place to talk, immediately."

Sam told him their motel and room number, and a second later they were all taking a trip on Angel Air. It was only with a belated curse that Dean realized they'd left his baby in the parking lot.

o.0.o

A man in a white ice-cream truck uniform stepped away from the bushes and strode back toward his vehicle. Kids were lining up outside to stuff their faces with cavity-inducing sugar—and a few randomly injected poisons. But that was all getting thrown on the back burner now.

He slammed the window closed in their faces, taking pleasure in the wave of disappointed whines that echoed through the corrugated steel. Plucking a bowl from the freezer, he knelt beside the body he'd stuffed in the cooler earlier, and squeezed out some blood. It was cold, which meant he had to wait a few minutes for it to flow easily into the bowl. Once it had, he placed his call. The viscous red liquid bubbled and burbled.

"Tell her she's not going to believe what's running around top-side."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's keeping up with this fic, leaving kudos, and commenting. It makes it all that much more fun for me. :D

Dean probably would have thrown more of a fit about Balthazar teleporting them away and leaving the Impala at the park, but at the moment he was more concerned about Cas, and it wouldn't be a horrendous walk to go retrieve it later. So he kept his displeasure to unintelligible grunts when they all landed in the motel room. Three sets of eyes turned to the little angel, who shifted his weight nervously under the attention.

"Have you ever heard of anything like this before?" Sam broke the silence.

"No," Balthazar replied thoughtfully. "He didn't tell you what happened?"

"He refuses to say anything," Dean put in. "He drew a sigil—you didn't recognize it?"

Sam leaned toward Dean and lowered his voice, "It was a trap designed specifically for Cas with his name."

Dean felt one hand furl into a fist. "So it was angels." Only they would know how to write Castiel's name in Enochian.

Cas climbed onto the bed where Sam's laptop sat from earlier, and started poking the keys.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam queried.

"How do I make the coyote come back?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You can watch cartoons later. Right now we need to figure this out."

Cas stubbornly shook his head and continued jabbing at the keyboard.

Sam stepped around to face Dean and Balthazar. "Look, he's obviously traumatized."

"We can't exactly wait around hoping he draws more pictures of being attacked," Dean retorted under his breath.

"I could look into his mind," Balthazar spoke up, and started forward with two fingers reaching out.

Cas's eyes widened and he jerked away. "No!"

Balthazar froze, and Dean's guard immediately went up. Was Cas now reacting to Balthazar…or something else?

"Cas," Sam said gently. "We need to know what happened. If Balthazar just takes a quick look—"

"No!" Cas scrambled back until he slid off the bed and bumped into the corner wall. "I won't tell, I won't tell." He clapped his hands over his ears, squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head back and forth, repeating that phrase over and over. "I won't tell. I won't tell."

Dean's heart plummeted into his stomach. They had no idea what had happened to Cas, but this reaction…it spelled 'interrogation,' to Dean. And he had to tamp down the desire for violence that filled him at that thought; he didn't want to scare Cas any more than he already was.

"Hey, hey buddy, it's okay," Dean soothed, slowly moving toward the corner of the bed and kneeling down on the floor. "No one's gonna make you tell. We just want to help you. So can you let Balthazar see the attack? Just that; he won't look at anything else."

Cas looked up with anguished eyes. "It'll hurt."

Sam frowned at Balthazar. "Will it?"

"No," the angel replied, voice tight with barely constrained emotion. Dean hadn't thought the guy could care so much. "But if someone else used a spell to try and gain information from Castiel…"

"How does turning him into a kid help do that?" Dean asked.

"It doesn't. I don't know how to explain that part." Balthazar crossed his arms in consternation.

Dean looked back at Cas, waiting to catch the kid's eye. "Hey, you know I'd never let anyone hurt you, right?"

Cas slowly nodded.

"Okay. So if I'm right here, will you let Balthazar look? If it hurts or gets to be too much, I'll make him stop, alright?" Dean held out his hand.

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment before finally uncurling from his hunched position. He placed his tiny hand in Dean's, and let himself be led out from behind the bed. Dean picked him up and sat down on the edge of the mattress, bracing Cas on his lap. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered how weird this was, but the way Cas clung to him reminded Dean of when Sam used to have nightmares as a kid, and Dean was the fearless older brother able to banish the monsters from the closet. He never thought he'd see _Cas_ the same way, but here they were.

Balthazar took a tentative step closer, and Dean skewered him with a sharp look. "Be gentle."

"Of course." The angel slowly reached out, and set two fingers to Cas's forehead.

Dean felt Cas stiffen, and so wrapped his arms around him tighter. A tiny fist curled itself in the cuff of Dean's sleeve. Dean watched Cas's face like a hawk for any sign of distress, but while his eyes were squeezed shut and he appeared uncomfortable, he didn't let out any sounds of pain. Balthazar's expression also seemed pinched with discomfort, and a moment later he broke away.

Dean patted Cas's arm. "You did great, buddy."

Cas blinked up at him and smiled shyly.

Balthazar gave himself a small shake. "It's like an acid trip in there."

"What'd you see?" Sam pressed.

"Near as I can tell, this…" He gestured at Cas. "Was an accident. Whatever spell was being performed, the ingredients got knocked over and spilled onto the sigil that had Castiel trapped. He escaped in the resulting chaos."

"Do you know who was behind it?" Dean asked.

"No," Balthazar responded, frustration tingeing his voice. "Everything's jumbled in Castiel's mind, just like his grace. Maybe if I had delved further I could have found a piece—but I'd rather not do that to him," he added pointedly.

Dean met that gaze stoically, acknowledging that the angel really did have Cas's best interests at heart, just like the Winchesters did.

"So what do we do?" Sam spoke up.

"I'll have to go back to Heaven and try to track down the exact spell that could do this, and find its counter." Balthazar looked down at Cas regretfully. "In the meantime, you two need to look out for him."

"That was never in question," Dean replied indignantly.

Balthazar shook his head. "You don't understand. Fledglings are vulnerable—Cas's grace is unpredictable in this state, as you saw with the wings. That could happen again. He might even accidentally hurt one of you."

Dean flashed back to Cas's uncontrolled healing burst earlier and the exploded television.

The little angel tried to squirm out of his arms. "I don't want to hurt Sam and Dean."

Dean kept his grip firm. "It'll be fine, Cas."

Balthazar shifted, face pinched with chagrin. "As much as it pains me to admit this…he's safer with you two hairless apes than he would be anywhere else right now. If Raphael found out Castiel was like this…" He trailed off, mouth thinning into a tight line.

"Not to mention it could have been one of Cas's own soldiers who betrayed him," Sam put in quietly.

"That too," Balthazar muttered. With a sigh, he knelt down to look Cas in the eye. "Will you promise to stay with the Winchesters, Cas? This is important."

Cas nodded slowly. "Are you going to put me back together?"

Balthazar's normally smarmy facade cracked. "I'm going to do my best." He ran his hand down Cas's back, and Dean noticed that Balthazar had fixed the tears in Cas's shirt, almost like a silent promise that he would fix the rest of Cas too.

Cas reached out and placed a hand on the angel's arm, voice solemn and grave. "Be careful."

A cocky grin replaced the serious look on Balthazar's face. "I'm the original 007."

Cas quirked a confused brow, which made Dean chuckle. Some things never changed. He finally lifted Cas off his lap and pointed at the laptop on the bed. "Why don't you ask Sam to bring the cartoons back, okay?"

"Sam, can you bring the cartoons back?" Cas dutifully asked.

Sam cast his brother a questioning look, but nevertheless took Cas's attention while Dean stepped closer to Balthazar.

"You should head for Singer Salvage," the angel said. "I believe the old hunter has that placed warded like Fort Knox. Plus I'll know where to find you."

Dean nodded. "Alright."

"Don't summon me," Balthazar continued sharply. "I can't be torn away from tracking down the information we need."

"What about praying?"

Balthazar shook his head. "I'd rather not risk it; you never know who might be listening."

Dean arched a wry brow. "We could work out some kind of code."

"The fact that you'd pray to me at all would be a red flag to anyone," the angel retorted. He sighed. "Just, keep my brother safe."

"He's our brother too," Dean automatically responded, earning a slightly startled reaction from both of them. But it was true; Cas had become as much of a brother to Dean as Sam was. Yet it occurred to Dean that he hadn't been showing it much lately.

Balthazar looked away, maybe in preparation to leave, maybe because he was even less enthusiastic than Dean about this shared understanding.

"Um, before you go…" Dean cleared his throat. "Cas, uh, seemed pretty upset with his wings…" He let the unspoken question hang in the air, not even sure what exactly he was asking in the first place. But if there was a good chance they could manifest again, Dean wanted to be better able to deal with it.

Balthazar shrugged. "They're an odd mixture of what they look like now, and what they looked like…before. As you said, his mind is like a child's. I'm sure it's confusing."

Dean frowned. "Before what?"

Balthazar snorted. "Before Hell, dimwit. What, you thought laying siege to the Pit was a walk in the park?" The angel rolled his shoulders. "We all have scars from that mission, but Castiel's are more…extensive."

Dean's jaw went slack, and he couldn't seem to form a response. First off was trying to reconcile the news that _Balthazar_ had been part of the siege to rescue him from Hell? Maybe that was why the angel so strongly disliked him. But Cas's wings were damaged? How? They hadn't looked hurt…but Cas had emphasized how they were the wrong color. White and gray and…black. Burned by hellfire? Dean suddenly felt nauseous.

"You can ask him about it when he's back to normal," Balthazar said snippily. "Though I honestly doubt he'll tell you." He paused, and then narrowed his gaze. "Don't bring it up now. He doesn't need to relive Hell like _this_."

Dean just nodded; remembering Hell was bad enough for anyone, let alone a kid. "We'll meet you at Bobby's," he said instead, and the angel took that as his cue to leave, vanishing in a soft swish of wing beats. Dean looked back at Cas and Sam on the bed, and waved to catch his brother's eye. "I gotta go get the car. Will you two be alright?"

Sam shot him a dry look. "We'll be fine, Dean. Might as well pick up some lunch on the way back while you're at it."

"It's gonna be burgers; fair warning."

Sam groaned. "They have salads too, Dean."

"I like burgers," Cas spoke up, then furrowed his brow and glanced between them. "Don't I?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but hesitated. Jimmy liked burgers, which had seeped over into Cas during the whole Famine incident, but that wasn't something he wanted to explain to the kid. "Of course you do. They're the prime choice for the standard American diet."

Sam snorted. "You do know what those initials spell, right?"

Dean waved him off impatiently, not caring, while Cas was squinting down at the floor as though trying way too hard to figure it out.

"S-A-D?" Cas guessed.

"Exactly," Sam replied. " _Sad_."

"Then why are they called 'happy meals'?" Dean retorted, and walked out the door before Sam could lob back a response.

* * *

Sam rolled his eyes at the ceiling after Dean had left. At least they were in a place where they could comfortably banter; they had a vague lead on how to help Cas, and just had to sit back and wait for Balthazar to come through. Okay, so Dean would probably rather be the one taking action himself, and so would Sam, but it was still something.

He turned his attention back to the cartoons, only to find Cas staring at him ruminatively.

"Why are they called 'happy meals'? Food can't have emotions."

Sam's lips quirked. "No, but they make kids smile. Of course, healthy fruits and vegetables can do that too." He didn't even know whether good nutrition was important for a growing fledgling or not, but he still didn't like the idea of Dean teaching the angel _too_ many bad habits.

Cas accepted the explanation and went back to watching the laptop screen. Sam did too, though his mind wasn't really focusing on the slapstick comedy. Instead, he kept thinking of the sketch Cas had drawn and the hidden wings. There was no reason to bring it up…except Sam genuinely wanted to know what Cas was feeling when he made it. And Sam doubted he'd be able to get adult Cas to open up a fraction of the amount kid-Cas might.

Sam slid off the bed and went to retrieve the drawing from his bag. When he came back, he sat next to Cas again and waited for the kid to look away from the cartoons.

"I saw all your drawings, Cas," Sam began. "This one's my favorite."

Cas smiled at the piece of paper. "Sam and Dean Winchester save the world."

Sam felt a pang of guilt at the knowledge that they were also the ones who'd risked it by starting the Apocalypse, but he shoved it aside. He reached over to pause the cartoons before pointing to the top and the darkly shaded area. "And is this you?"

Cas pressed his lips together.

"I see wings," Sam prompted, and traced a finger down one curved plume. "I can't think of any other angel it might be."

Cas fidgeted. "You and Dean are warriors."

"Even warriors need a guardian angel. Probably more so," he smiled ruefully.

"I'm supposed to protect you," Cas said, then lowered his voice. "I _want_ to protect you."

"So why are you hidden?"

Cas shrugged one shoulder. "Where else would I be?"

"Mhm, why not out in the open? Or standing next to us?"

Cas's brow pinched, and he studied the page for a long moment. "Because there's no room for me. You call when you need help, and then I leave." He reached out a tiny finger to brush a circle around the edges of the paper. "Like the coyote chasing the bird. Over and over and over again."

Sam's mouth turned down. Yeah, that was probably the heart of the problem distilled down to its simplest form: Dean was angry Cas had been incommunicado for a year, and then later come to find out _he_ had raised Sam from Hell, but hadn't bothered to tell either of them, and just let them stew in suspicion and worry. After that, they hadn't exactly made Cas feel welcome. What if…without the Apocalypse as a uniting factor, Cas didn't feel like he belonged with the Winchesters anymore? Which made Sam angry because of course the angel was still their friend. Or did Cas not understand that?

"Do…do you not want to leave?" Sam asked gently.

Cas shrugged again. The kid's avoidance mode was becoming quite the telltale.

"If you want to stay, why don't you?" Sam figured if he could just get to the bottom of this, he could fix how the friendship between the three of them had drifted apart so horribly.

Cas looked at him sadly. "I don't fit."

Sam's brows rose sharply. "Don't fit where? With me and Dean? Of course you do!"

Cas frowned. "How?"

Sam was so taken aback by the sincerity of the question, he didn't know how to respond. So Cas felt, what, like he wasn't really wanted? Or self-conscious around Sam and Dean and didn't know what to do about it? No wonder they'd had so many misunderstandings lately.

"You know how you ate breakfast with us this morning?" Sam started, reminding himself that he had to phrase this in a way kid-Cas would understand. "And how you and Dean hung out at the park, and you and me were watching cartoons. And…talking, like we are now."

Cas nodded. "I liked all that."

Sam smiled. "Doesn't that feel like you fit?"

Cas seemed to consider the question, forehead creasing in thought.

"Listen, Cas," Sam continued. "You know why Dean and I were able to stand against Heaven and Hell?" He pointed at the drawing. "Because we're a team. The _three_ of us are a team; we couldn't have done it without you."

Cas looked at the drawing and then smiled. "Thank you, Sam." Then he turned back to the laptop and hit the space bar to start the cartoons playing again. Kid was a quick study.

Sam just shook his head in amusement, feeling slightly better now that he'd gotten some insight into Cas's head. But he knew that little pep talk wasn't going to fix everything, and when Cas was back to his normal self, Sam was gonna make the effort to show Cas how much he truly was appreciated.

o.0.o

The demon cracked the back door of the ice-cream truck and peered out as one of the men from before sauntered up to the black Impala with a set of keys.

"I got him," he said to the bowl of simmering blood. "No sign of the fledgling, but it can't be far."

" _Don't lose him_ ," a raspy voice responded. " _She's on her way up_."

He dumped the bowl's contents down the sink to end the connection, and then cast one final look around the truck. So much for his plans to wreak havoc here, though this unexpected diversion did hold substantial promise.

With that, he tipped his head back and smoked out of the temporary meat suit.


	6. Chapter 6

They packed up and hit the road after lunch. Bobby's was a day's drive away, and Dean was grateful he'd thought to buy those colored pencils, because keeping a kid angel occupied for that long in the cramped backseat of a car would have been trying on his patience otherwise. As it was, Cas was thrilled to get the colors, and immediately settled against the leather to start drawing.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said nonchalantly. "Can you draw me a picture of the three of us together?"

"Okay."

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel in time with the rhythm of the Impala's tires eating up the road. It was like a weird family road-trip, and despite the circumstances, it was almost…nice. Sure, taking care of kid-Cas might have been a slight inconvenience, since they couldn't exactly take him on hunts, but there was something just with the fact that he was here, with them. The last time they'd spent so much time together had been when they were fighting the Apocalypse. And how pathetic that Dean's initial thought was, 'those were the good ole days.'

"Sam?" Cas's small voice spoke up a couple hours later. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and saw him fidgeting against the seatbelt.

Sam twisted around in the passenger seat to look at him. "Yeah, Cas?"

Cas held out the paper he'd been sketching on. Dean glanced at it when it passed to Sam's hands, and was once again blown away by the detail. And now that there was an array of rich color, there was so much more…emotion, in the subject matter. The Impala blended with the dark shades depicting a night scene, though Sam and Dean leaning against the hood stood out as though highlighted by an aura. They were gazing up at the stars. There was a white patch that suggested Cas hadn't finished, but Dean was still about to tell him it looked awesome, when he saw Sam frowning at it. _What the hell?_

"Where are you, Cas?" Sam asked gently.

Oh, right, Sam had wanted a drawing of the three of them, which was…interesting. Though, Dean had to admit he wouldn't really mind one of those.

Dean kept glancing between the road and the rearview mirror at Cas, who looked uncomfortable.

"Um, I could be there." Cas pointed to a place on the paper Dean couldn't see while driving, though he guessed it was the blank section.

"Yeah," Sam said slowly. "I think that's a great place. Why don't you add that?"

There was silence in the backseat for a long moment, and with the way Sam was patiently waiting made Dean start thinking he was missing some whole other conversation beneath the surface here.

"I…can't," Cas finally said in a small voice. "I don't know what I look like."

Dean exchanged a look with both of them; Cas seemed troubled while Sam pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, we probably have a mirror somewhere."

"Dean," Sam said under his breath, and gave a subtle head shake. He twisted around to face Cas again. "Cas…do you remember what your vessel looked like…before?"

Cas tilted his head. "Mhm, I suppose so. Definitely bigger."

Sam smiled. "Yeah. Not as tall as me, but close to Dean's height." He paused. "Do you remember a tan overcoat?"

Dean shot his brother a questioning look, wondering why the heck those details were important. Cas's memory was understandably muddled right now, but that'd be fixed once Balthazar found the counter spell. And this was just a drawing.

"Yes…" Cas replied, then frowned. "I think I lost it."

"That's okay," Sam said quickly. "But do you know what to draw now?"

Cas nodded and held out his arm to take the drawing back. Sam turned back around and settled into the seat, facing forward again. It took a moment of Dean practically boring holes through him before Sam looked over and silently mouthed, " _Later._ "

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration, but returned his focus to the road. They drove through the night, Dean and Sam taking shifts behind the wheel while the other slept in the passenger seat. Cas was mostly quiet, taking an extremely long time on that one drawing and trying to sketch himself. It seemed to be giving him a lot of trouble, and Dean would have told him not to worry about it if Sam hadn't been so intent on it.

They were a few miles outside Sioux Falls the next morning when Dean pulled into a gas station on an isolated stretch of highway. "Grab some chips with the coffee," he told Sam before getting out and walking over to the gas pump.

Cas unbuckled his seatbelt, rolled down his window, and leaned his arms on the rim. "Do they have donuts or hot chocolate?"

Dean chuckled. "And get Cas a donut."

"You're such a bad role model," Sam muttered as he headed toward the mini mart.

Dean just grinned, and leaned back against the side of the Impala as he filled the tank with gas. Cas alternated between watching him and twisting his head back to gaze up at the sky. Big, puffy white clouds rose like giant islands in a sea of blue.

"I want to stretch my wings."

Dean stiffened. He didn't want to risk Cas flying off, and they certainly couldn't risk showing his wings again. "Maybe when we get to Bobby's," he said noncommittally.

Cas let out a long-suffering sigh. "Travel by car is slow."

Dean lifted his brows; that sounded like the angelic equivalent of 'are we there yet?' "That's the thanks I get for buying you those colored pencils? You diss Baby?"

Cas frowned and seemed to consider that. "Thank you for the pencils, Dean."

He shook his head in amusement and finished pumping the gas. "You're welcome, kid." After securing the gas cap, he opened the back door and motioned for Cas to climb out. "Let's see if Sam found your donut."

Cas slid off the seat, his shoes lighting up as soon as they touched the ground. Dean took his hand—only to prevent him from flying off—and led him toward the mini mart. Sam wasn't at the checkout counter, so Dean scanned the aisles for the top of his ginormous brother's head. Sam wasn't in sight. In fact, no one was.

Dean tightened his grip on Cas's hand, while reaching the other toward the pistol in his waistband. "What do you think about a chocolate donut, Cas?" he calmly asked.

Cas eyed Dean's tense expression and the gun he was reaching for, and smartly didn't respond. They stepped in front of the second aisle, and Dean froze. Sam was on the floor, hands and ankles duct taped, along with his mouth. The roll that'd been used had been grabbed off the shelf and left on the floor next to him. Wide eyes pierced Dean's as Sam jerked his head toward Dean's left. He drew his weapon and whirled in time to face the black-eyed demon that had emerged from the back. The mini mart clerk leered in return.

Cas tugged on his sleeve and whispered, "Dean."

He shot a glance over his shoulder and found a second demon had come around behind him.

"Give us the fledgling and maybe we'll let you walk out of here," the first demon said.

Dean went rigid. They'd set a trap for Cas? How had they known about him? "Go to hell," he growled.

The demon smirked. "No problem. Think the kid would be up for a field trip downstairs?"

Dean fired. The bullet tore through the demon's torso, though Dean knew it wouldn't cause any real damage. He spun around and pushed Cas toward Sam a second before the other demon tackled him. They both hit the ground hard, the air whooshing from Dean's lungs. He threw a punch that caught the guy across the jaw, and tried to buck him off.

"Dean!" Cas cried.

Dean managed to get his gun up under the demon's cheek and squeezed the trigger. The body rocked backward from the force, allowing Dean the space he needed to scramble away. As he regained his footing, he spotted Cas backing up down the aisle while the first demon advanced on him.

"Cas! Fly to Bobby's!" Dean just prayed the kid would actually get there.

The demon flicked his wrist in response, flinging Dean into the shelves. He hit the floor with a grunt as packs of batteries, lighters, and WD-40 cans fell on top of him.

"Don't fly away, little birdie," the demon crooned. "You don't want to leave your pals here to have their intestines carved out like a pumpkin, do you? While they're awake."

Cas's eyes widened as he kept backing up until he hit the wall. Sam started making muffled noises through the duct tape, which the demon ignored, but Dean briefly took his eyes off Cas to meet his brother's gaze. Sam rolled onto his stomach and shifted so the hem of his shirt pulled up an inch, exposing the hilt of Ruby's knife. Dean glanced back at the demon, who was slowly stalking Cas as the angel scrambled into the next aisle. As quietly as he could, Dean crawled toward Sam and slipped out Ruby's knife. The demon had trailed Cas into the next aisle, so Dean went and crouched at the head of the other end.

"Don't be afraid, little angel. We have special plans for you."

Dean waited until Cas backed out of the aisle before leaping up and stabbing Ruby's knife into the demon's chest. The guy let out a choked gasp in surprise as his body jerked and flashed with orange lightning. Dean twisted the blade, and then yanked it out, letting the body crumple to the floor. "Plans change," he grunted.

He turned around, only to come face to face with the second demon, who now had an oozing hole in his left eye socket. The demon grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the shelf. His fingers spasmed open and the knife clattered to the floor. Then the demon's other hand snapped up to wrap around Dean's throat, immediately closing off his airway. Dean struggled to break free, but with his right wrist immobilized, all he had was his left, and the demon seemed impervious to his punches. Black spots were exploding across his vision, his lungs burned, and with the lack of oxygen his strength started to fail. Dean thrashed wildly; he couldn't let demons take Cas.

Just as darkness was crowding around the edges of his vision, a nova burst forth behind the demon's head like a halo. Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, but even so the light was blinding through his closed lids. The air crackled, and he thought he heard the demon scream, but the sound was drowned out by the sudden explosion of glass all around. The hand around his throat slackened, and Dean dropped, gasping to fill his lungs. Something in the back of his mind warned not to open his eyes just yet, so he kept them clamped shut until the intruding sun gradually faded, leaving behind red rings behind his eyelids.

Once he could breathe again, Dean tentatively peeled his eyes open. He jolted back at the sight of a body on the floor in front of him, completely burned to a crisp and still smoking. Sparkling bits of glass glittered all around from shattered lightbulbs, and a fresh breeze suggested all the windows had been blown to pieces too. Dean's gaze drifted up to where Cas stood directly behind the demon, eyes wide with terror, hand still outstretched from when he smote that bastard to hell.

Cas blinked, and then swayed, and then tipped backward to fall flat on his butt.

"Cas?" Dean crawled around the dead demon, wincing as his skin felt oddly taut. A glance down at his hands showed they were pink, almost like he'd been sunburned. He remembered what Balthazar had said about Cas's grace being unstable and how he might accidentally hurt one of them, and resolved not to mention this in front of the kid angel. He needed to check Sam, who had hopefully been safe in the next aisle, and by the muffled protests filtering over, Dean assumed he was fine.

"Cas, hey, you okay?" Dean looked him over for injury, but it seemed as though he'd just overdone it with the grace super power again.

Cas blinked dazedly up at him. "I think I need a coffee."

Dean snorted. "How about a nap instead." He patted the kid's shoulder, just to make sure he was alright, and then pushed himself to his feet. "I gotta check on Sam, okay? Just stay there."

Dean hobbled around the corner to find his brother trying to caterpillar-crawl his way out of the aisle. Sam shot him a combination frantic-pissed-worried look, which was quite the acrobatic facial exercise. Dean ripped the duct tape off his mouth without apology.

"Ungh," Sam grunted, and worked his jaw. "You okay? What happened?"

"I ganked one, Cas smote the other—and half the store." Dean pulled the silver knife from his boot and sawed the tape off Sam's wrists and ankles. On the bright side, he'd bet any electronic security equipment was also fried.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked in a lower voice. "You look…"

"Like a tomato, I'm sure." And wasn't that nice. But he didn't want to risk another explosion by Cas healing it, so he'd deal. "I'm not hurt though."

The door chime jingled, and Dean snapped his attention up. Exchanging a brief look, he and Sam scrambled to their feet and out of the aisle, only to stop short. His first thought was maybe Cas had wandered outside; at worst, a customer had just walked in on a gruesome murder scene. Dean had not expected to see a hideous woman wearing a beige colored dress with tattered edges that fluttered around gangrene legs. The low neckline revealed blue skin that covered her shoulders and partway down her arms before fading to a more natural, pale hue. Dull brown hair fell down her back, adding to her sickly pallor. Dean had never seen the likes of her before, but she was definitely some sort of monster.

And Cas was sitting on the floor halfway between the three of them.

She roved her gaze around the demolished store and charred demon remains. "I'm impressed. The little tyke has quite the explosive power."

Dean stiffened; not another one looking for Cas. He subtly flicked his eyes around in search of Ruby's knife, and spotted it just inside the aisle to his left. Dean caught Sam's gaze and gave a subtle nod, silently forming a plan. A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked, showing he'd gotten the message. Dean dove for the knife, and Sam lunged for Cas.

There was an 'oomph' and a cry, followed by a crash. Cas's frightened voice yelled Sam's name, and Dean scooped up the knife. He spun as the woman advanced on him, and stabbed the blade into her chest. Yet there was no skeletal orange lightning, no cry of pain. The woman glanced down in disinterest before waving her hand. An invisible force punched Dean in the stomach and propelled him backward. He hit the floor and slid until he collided with his brother's flailing limbs.

"Dean! Sam!"

Dean pushed himself off Sam in time to see the bitch yank the demon-killing knife from her torso and drop it on the linoleum. Then she grabbed Cas by the back of his shirt collar and yanked him off the floor. She wrapped one arm across him, tucking him back against her chest. Dean staggered forward, but froze when she released Cas's shirt in order to close long, porcelain fingers around his neck.

"My own little fledgling," she crooned. "This was definitely worth leaving Hell for."

So she was a demon? But why hadn't the knife worked?

Cas kicked at her stomach until she squeezed his throat, and he let out a pained whimper.

"Cas!" Dean frantically looked around for another weapon he could use, but was hopelessly coming up empty. Sam stumbled upright beside him, chest heaving and eyes wide with fear. Dean didn't know how they were going to get out of this one, unless Cas had the juice to smite a second time. "Let him go, you bitch!"

The woman smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth. "I think not. You see, this little angelic battery is just the kind of power boost I need to secure my rule of Helheim."

_What?_ Dean took a step forward, trying to catch Castiel's gaze. _"Come on, buddy, smite her. You can do it."_

Cas's terrified eyes looked back at Dean. Maybe he couldn't hear Dean's prayer; maybe he could but had worn himself out with the first demon. Either way, Cas wasn't smiting, and the demon was gloating.

"Dean," Cas whimpered. It was the last thing Dean heard before the woman vanished into thin air. With Cas.


	7. Chapter 7

Traveling through the void left Castiel dizzy and nauseated. When the hag reemerged into the earthly plane, he sucked in a lungful of fresh air. His vessel didn't need to breathe in the same sense as humans, but the void in which demons and other entities teleported was the absence of everything that an angel thrived on, particularly light. Swallowing the urge to gag, he started kicking at the woman.

"Put me down!"

She was stronger than him, though. The arm she had braced across his chest shifted to grab a fistful of his shirt, and then she was yanking him around to face her hideous visage. Yellowing eyes flashed irritably, and her other hand came up behind him to close around the back of his neck. Castiel yelped as she squeezed threateningly. Her touch was vile, and bitter cold. Castiel tried to summon the strength of Heaven to smite her, but his grace wasn't working. _Nothing_ was working right, not his grace or his wings. Everything was all wrong and he just wanted to go home.

"Aren't you the most precious little thing," she crooned in a deceptively soft voice. She leaned closer, and Castiel tried to recoil, but her grip on his neck was crushing. He couldn't hold back a small whimper. Her lips touched his forehead with a motherly kiss, and he shuddered with revulsion; it burned like dry ice. The chill seeped into Castiel's skin and began to spread, down his shoulders and chest and through his limbs, until his entire body was numb.

She released his neck, crooking her arm under his back to cradle his limp form. He stared up at her through wide, frozen eyes as she bent down and laid him on a cold, concrete floor. He couldn't move, couldn't make a sound. His heart pounded faster and faster until the vibrations of rushing blood roared in his ears. The hag loomed over him, but her face began flashing back and forth between someone else, a man with long blond hair…and Castiel's terror multiplied tenfold. There was chanting, and pain, and begging.

Only none of that was actually happening here and now. Castiel's mind was a maelstrom of panic, yet the dim warehouse the woman had brought him to was stale and quiet, and Castiel himself was silent and still, paralyzed by her foul touch.

She clucked her tongue and smoothed some of his hair back. "Now you sit tight, dear. I have some preparations to make." She stood up and moved out of sight, leaving Castiel alone and trapped in his mounting terror.

A tear welled in the corner of his eye and slipped down his cheek.

* * *

Dean stared at the spot Cas had been only moments before, and raised his hands to clutch the sides of his head. _No_. He lost Cas. He _lost_ Cas, who he was supposed to protect! And now the angel was in the hands of a demon, and Dean could easily imagine all the horrific things that woman would do to him. Oh god, he was just a _kid_ …

"Dean!" Sam shouted, gripping his elbows and forcing him to look up. "We'll find him, okay? We'll find him."

Dean shook his head. "How? He's gone, Sam. That bitch could have taken him back to Hell for all we know. Even if they're still on earth, they could be anywhere!" He was gonna hyperventilate. He'd promised Cas he wouldn't let anyone hurt him, ever. And he'd failed. Dean had failed and Cas was probably being tortured…and with his childlike mind he would break in a matter of hours. They'd never reach him in time.

Sam's mouth was pressed into a thin line, and though he was trying to put on a calm, level-headed front, Dean could see the fear swirling in his brother's eyes. "Should we summon Balthazar?"

"And say we lost Cas? He'd send us straight to Hell." Which, Dean almost didn't care about at this moment. His chest was getting tight and it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. All he could think about was the image of four-year-old Cas strapped to a rack, blood streaming down to puddle on the floor in greater quantities than a kid's body even possessed, while high-pitched screams filled Dean's ears.

" _Dean_!" Sam gave him a rough shake. "Pull yourself together! What the hell, man…"

Dean blinked, the torture scene melting back into the demolished mini mart and his brother standing directly in front of him. He shook his head, trying to clear it. What the hell was right; Dean was normally more collected than this. Even under the most extreme, hopeless situations in the past, he always managed to meet them head-on. Losing his shit was _not_ Dean Winchester's style.

_Get it together_ , he mentally berated. There were options; there were always options. Rework the summoning spell they used for Balthazar to summon Cas instead; find a witch to coerce into doing a scrying; hell, making a deal with a crossroads demon! Because Dean was _not_ giving up on Cas without a fight.

Now that he'd gotten his emotions somewhat under control, Dean scooped up their fallen weapons and stormed outside. He was still feeling an undercurrent of panic—it was _Cas_ , for Pete's sake—and yet…it almost felt detached now, like something outside himself.

Dean pulled up short at the Impala and whirled back toward Sam, who'd been on his heels. Sam came to an abrupt halt, staring at Dean as though he was losing his mind. Maybe he was. Or maybe…

Dean clamped a hand over the place on his arm where the handprint scar was located. How had Cas found him initially? He still had the Enochian warding on his ribs left over from the Apocalypse when they were hiding from the angels. And Dean hadn't prayed to the angel. What had Cas said? Dean 'vibrated' or some such shit. But he'd referred to the scar, as though it held a small piece of Cas from when the angel had raised him from the Pit. It'd never given them any kind of tangible connection before, but maybe since Cas's grace was more unstable, more prone to power bursts, this link was stronger too. Dean would have to worry about the implications of that when they got Cas back and restored to an adult; right now, though, he desperately needed his theory to be true.

"Dean?" Sam questioned worriedly.

He lifted his gaze to Sam's. "I think I can find Cas."

Sam's brows shot up. "How?"

Dean waved vaguely at his arm. "I think…I can feel his emotions. How…" He swallowed hard. "How scared he is." It was either that, or Dean was on the brink of a mental breakdown. He wasn't sure which was worse…but either way, he couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed by those sensations again, not if he was gonna help Cas.

Sam stared at him in disbelief for a moment before apparently deciding to just accept it. "How do we use that?"

Dean pivoted and marched around the car to climb behind the wheel. Sam scrambled into the passenger side after him as he turned the key in the ignition.

"I don't know. Maybe we can call Bobby, see if there's a spell or something. But shit, Sam, this demon's like nothing we've ever encountered before. Even if we do find them, how are we supposed to stop her?" Dean threw the car in gear and peeled out of the gas station. There was a thrum in his chest, in his arm, and he hoped to a deadbeat God that it wasn't just his imagination. Whatever he was feeling, wherever it was coming from, Dean suspected Cas wasn't far, maybe even in Sioux Falls.

Sam's brows were knitted together in deep thought. "I don't think she was a demon," he finally said. "I think she's a pagan god. Hel, actually."

"Hell is a place, not a person."

Sam shook his head. "No, I mean H-E-L. Remember what she said before she disappeared with Cas? About her ruling Helheim? 'Heim' is the Norwegian word used for realm, or kingdom, which means…"

Dean could practically hear the gears in his brother's head turning, and he wrung his hands around the steering wheel while he waited for Sam to explain.

Sam pulled out his phone, tapped a few keys, and pressed it to his ear. "In Norse mythology, Hel ruled an icy portion of the underworld."

"So we need to kill a god," Dean said. _Great_. Those bastards usually required a ritual, which took _time_ to research.

"Bobby, hey," Sam said, diverting his attention. "No, we were ambushed by demons. One of them got Cas."

Dean thought he heard a muffled curse through the line.

"We think it's actually the deity Hel from Norse mythology. Can you look up how we're supposed to gank her?" Sam paused and glanced at Dean. "We're working on it," he said in a slightly lower voice. "Is there a tracking spell you can think of… Yeah, okay." Sam hung up. "He's on it."

Dean knew by the sound of Sam's tone that it was a tall order, even for Bobby, on such a short timetable. He pressed the gas harder, revving the engine and pushing the Impala ten, fifteen miles over the speed limit. When he came to the exit that would take them toward Bobby's house, Dean veered the opposite direction.

Sam twisted around in his seat as the exit sign receded behind them. "Dean?"

"Cas ain't at Bobby's," he replied gruffly.

Sam gave him a sympathetic look, but didn't argue. He simply turned his attention back to his phone, doing what limited research he could. That was Sam's method for feeling like he was doing something useful—and right now, driving was Dean's.

* * *

Castiel was shivering. It was the only movement he was capable of at the moment, and each relentless tremor sent a wave of pain through his locked joints and stiff muscles. He'd wanted to call for help, but the pathetic mewls he did manage to get out wouldn't be heard by anyone except his captor, who paid him little attention. He could feel her presence, somewhere nearby, and could hear the clink of bottles and rustling of items.

He'd been lying on the concrete ground for a long time, long enough for his mind to dredge up a name to go with the hideous face of the hag, though it meant little to him. He also realized he was in an old warehouse—and that image triggered a series of others that left Castiel fighting to hold back tears. He wanted to go back to Sam and Dean. He tried reaching for that thread he'd followed before, but it was tenuous at best, and he couldn't get his wings to move either.

Soft footfalls approached, and Castiel could only sniffle as Hel stepped into his line of sight. She had painted runes on her arms, all the way from the back of her hands and up to her blue biceps. Castiel didn't know what they meant, but they radiated malevolent design.

"That pond-scum Crowley thinks _he_ can become King of Hell," she muttered as she knelt down on the floor. "When _I've_ been around for an eon longer. But you're going to help me with that, aren't you my little fledgling?"

Castiel wanted to scream, to kick, to do anything but lie there helplessly. She placed a hand on the side of his cheek, infusing a fresh wave of glacial poison. Castiel felt himself growing heavier, and gradually his shivers eased to the point he didn't feel all that cold anymore. He felt…not much of anything.

Hel smiled, and moved her hand to flatten her palm across his chest. She inhaled sharply through her nose, closing her eyes in concentration. The runes along her skin began to glow orange, and Castiel felt something reach deep inside and tug at his core. He barely jerked, though it felt like being harpooned. A light pooled underneath the goddess's hand…and then started being absorbed into her skin, changing the painted symbols so they glimmered with the same hue of the pure, gentle blue aura of an angel's grace.

* * *

Dean had been driving in circles through Sioux Falls for the past couple hours. He couldn't say why, or give Sam a good reason for not going to Bobby's to help search the lore, but it was almost as though something was tugging Dean to stay in the area. In fact, while it seemed aimless, he noticed he'd been gradually circling a tighter and tighter radius toward the southern edge of the city. He didn't say anything to Sam, though, just in case it was merely wishful thinking.

He was so focused on following some ridiculous, mystical hunch, that he jumped when Sam's phone rang.

Sam hurriedly hit 'answer' and then the speaker button. "Yeah?"

" _Stake made from an alder tree_."

"That how we ice this bitch?" Dean asked.

" _That's all I could find so far_ ," was Bobby's rough reply. " _Normally you need to coat the stake in a special kind of blood when it comes to deities, but I haven't come across anything for Hel yet_." There was a pause. " _Look, I know time is of the essence, but it's better to be prepared before charging in—_ "

"This will have to be good enough," Dean interrupted. He was not gonna sit around to triple check things while Cas could be dying.

Bobby let out an irritated huff, but didn't argue. " _Also, I don't know if this means anything, but I got a call from a buddy who said a bush spontaneously burst into flames. Nothing else going on, but does sound kinda biblical, don't it?_ "

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. "Where?"

" _Emerson and Holton_."

Dean straightened. Those cross streets were in the southern part of town, right where he had been heading all along. He made a sharp right turn, adrenaline spiking through his system. _I'm coming, Cas_.

Sam thanked Bobby and hung up. After a few taps on his phone's screen, he started whipping his gaze between it and the windows. "Pull over," he said a minute later. "I think that's an alder tree."

Dean cranked the wheel and brought the Impala to a sharp stop along the curb. Sam leaped out and waded through a copse of trees, holding his phone up to compare his reference picture. Dean popped the Impala's trunk and pulled out a machete.

"This one!" Sam called.

Glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, Dean strode over and quickly hacked off a couple branches. Then he hurriedly returned the machete to the trunk and got behind the wheel again, while Sam pulled out a knife and started sharpening their stakes.

A couple minutes later, Dean slowed the car to glide through the intersection Bobby had mentioned, eyes peeled for a burnt bush. There wasn't one, though there was a group of people gathered outside a bar, examining what looked like a regular shrub. Someone had a hose ready while another was poking it with a crowbar. It wasn't on fire anymore, and if it had been, not a single leaf looked singed.

Dean smacked the steering column. Cas wouldn't be here. But Dean's arm was still thrumming… They had to be close, dammit!

Sam's brow furrowed in a deep frown as he consulted his phone again. "There are some warehouses a few blocks away, probably the closest place that'd be good to stash someone." He glanced at Dean hesitantly. "Think that could be it?"

Dean knew what his brother was asking—was Dean's internal Cas-radar pointing that direction? But the damn connection wasn't that specific. Still, they had nothing else to go on. "Which way?"

"Turn right."

Dean did so, trying to simultaneous tap into this weird connection he felt while keeping his attention on the road. Sam started shifting in his seat, twisting until he could reach into his back pocket and pull out a lighter, which he then stared at thoughtfully.

"Want to share with the class, Sammy?"

"Bobby didn't find mention of special blood for the stake," Sam began. "But we know Hel's nature is ice, and what's the opposite of that?"

Dean nodded along. "So we stab the bitch and light her on fire." Great, they had a plan. Now they just needed to home in on a location.

As they drove past a row of warehouses, Dean's stomach lurched violently. He pulled the car over before he accidentally crashed them, and forced himself to inhale steadily through his nose.

"Dean?"

"He has to be close, Sam." Dean's voice rose an octave; he knew they were getting closer, but it _wasn't enough_.

_Come on, Cas, send up another flare, another burning bush, anything_.

Sam opened his door and slid out. "Let's check them all."

Dean didn't have a better plan, and so followed. They split up, each armed with a wooden stake and lighter. Some of the warehouses looked to be in use, but a few others at the end of the block looked dilapidated and abandoned, so they focused their search there first. Dean strode as quickly and covertly as he could around the perimeter, peering through oxidized or broken windows. So far everything looked quiet and empty. He reached up to rub his arm, wincing as the scar felt oddly cold. And the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was finally settling, which was not at all reassuring.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Dean drew it out to glance at the message. " _Second building, round back_." Dean turned and ran.

He found Sam positioned outside a steel door, a grim look on his face.

"I saw glowing light, but that's it," Sam explained.

Dean gripped his stake in a white-knuckled hand. 'Glowing' light was not the same thing as _exploding_ light, which was how angels died. He nodded to Sam, who turned the handle as quietly as he could, and pulled the door open with a creak. They swept inside, years of hunting giving them synchronized movements. The immediate interior was dim and dingy, full of old machinery covered in an inch of dust. The Winchesters checked the perimeter before regrouping at a corridor that led to another section of the warehouse. A pale bluish light was emanating from within. Dean swallowed hard, and after exchanging a look with Sam, they charged forward.

Dean froze for a split moment when he spotted the hell-bitch kneeling on the floor over a prone Cas. She had a hand pressed against his chest, holding him down, and a bright blue halo was glowing around her fingers and Cas's torso. There were a bunch of runes gleaming on her arms that hadn't been there before, and Dean realized with horror that she was sucking out Cas's grace. Both he and Sam surged forward at the same time.

Hel whipped her head up. Letting out a snarl, she leaped to her feet and waved her hand, which sent both Winchesters flying through the air. Dean hit the ground with a grunt, and fought to blink a series of black spots from his vision. He staggered upright as Hel advanced on him. The light encasing Cas had vanished, but from what Dean could see, the kid wasn't moving. At all.

Dean pushed himself up, but before he could raise his stake, Hel grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tossed him aside again. Pain radiated up his shoulder as he landed hard, but he was on his feet again a second later. Dean saw Sam trying to sneak up behind the goddess, so Dean flung himself forward, willing to take more pain if it gave Sam an opening.

Hel ducked his swipe and swung around to grab his throat, knocking his stake out of his hand with her other arm. Dean latched onto her wrist and tried to pry it loose, but she was too strong. He struggled as she squeezed. _Any time now…_

Hel jerked and dropped Dean. He stumbled backwards as the hag half turned, revealing a wooden stake sticking out of the center of her back. Sam stood on the other side, lighter in hand. With a click, he ignited the flame and set it to the wood, which went up in an instant whoosh. Hel screamed and flailed her arms wildly. Dean jumped out of the way, while Sam scooped up the second stake and drove it into the goddess's chest for good measure. The shriek that ripped from her throat rattled the windows, and the smell of charcoal and ozone filled the air.

Dean spun away from the sight and scrambled toward Cas, falling to the floor beside the kid. "Cas?" Dean's voice cracked as he took in Cas's pale complexion, blue lips, and sightless eyes staring up at nothing. Frozen tear tracks had left ice crystals down the kid's face, and Dean's heart clenched. He took the small shoulders and shook them lightly. Cas was like a block of ice.

No, not like this. Not when they'd finally found him. "Cas!"

Hel's dying screams had faded, leaving the world to narrow to just Cas lying lifeless in front of Dean. He slipped an arm under Cas's rigid shoulders, elevating him a fraction. A bitter chill seeped through his clothes at the contact, making him shudder.

"Come on, Cas. I got you. It's okay now." Dean felt hot moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. Sam's presence hovered over them, his grief a tangible throb that made Dean want to scream and punch something if not for the fragile body in his arms. He ran a thumb over Cas's cheek, wiping away one of the tear tracks. How terrified Cas must have been, wondering where Dean was, when the hunter was going to come rescue him.

Cas's eyelids slowly shuttered in a blink. Then again.

Dean's voice hitched. "Cas?" He pulled the kid further into his arms.

Cas blinked once more, gaze gradually focusing. Fear flashed through those blue eyes until they seemed to recognize the Winchesters. And then without a sound, Cas rolled onto his side and curled against Dean. The shock of Cas's icy body sent a jolt through him, but he instinctively wrapped his arms tighter around the angel.

"Sam, he's freezing."

Sam shrugged out of his jacket and knelt down to help wrap Cas in it without jostling the kid too much. Cas didn't make any kind of noise, or look at them; he just kept his face buried in Dean's shirt. Dean lifted him up, cradling him close and angling Cas away from the sight of Hel's gangrene corpse. Sam ducked in to get the car keys from Dean's pocket, and then they made their way out, urgency driving their hurried pace. They'd gotten Cas back, but was it in time?


	8. Chapter 8

Sam pushed the Impala as fast as he dared, praying they didn't get caught by a traffic cop as he barreled their way toward Bobby's. With one hand on the wheel, he fished out his phone and punched the last number dialed.

Bobby answered after the first ring. " _Well?_ "

"We got him," Sam replied, voice rougher than usual. He glanced at his brother in the passenger seat with Cas bundled in his arms. Sam could barely see the kid's head poking out of his jacket, but the little that was visible was ghostly white. They'd cranked the heat up to the max as soon as they'd started the engine, but Sam didn't know if it was working.

" _You gonna make me guess, boy?_ " Bobby growled.

Sam wrenched his attention back to the road and the phone call. "Cas is hypothermic. We're ten minutes out. Heated towels, blankets, hot water bottles…" he rattled off. He didn't know what else they could do, what else they needed to do. What were the effects of Cas getting some of his grace siphoned away?

" _Balls,_ " Bobby muttered, and promptly hung up.

Sam tossed his phone on the seat between him and Dean, casting another worried look at his brother, who had Cas's head tucked under his chin. Cas still hadn't made a sound this entire time, and now his eyes were closed. He also wasn't shivering, which Sam knew wasn't good. A hospital was out of the question, though, because the staff would probably call Child Protective Services when the Winchesters failed to produce ID and proof of guardianship for the kid. Besides, Cas was still an angel, so he'd heal up…right?

Sam glanced at the limp form again, and pressed harder on the gas.

They pulled up to Bobby's a short time later, and after turning off the engine, Sam scrambled out of the car and around to open Dean's door. His brother wordlessly got out and carried Cas into the house. Bobby met them in the hallway.

"Towels are in the dryer," he said without preamble, sparing only a brief brow raise at Dean's reddened skin. "Bed upstairs is made," he added, and focused on the lump in Dean's arms.

Dean didn't even take the time to respond, but pushed past the older hunter and went straight for the stairs. Sam knew his brother was wrestling with a shitload of guilt right now, and a lot of anxious worry. He was scared too, and debated calling Balthazar, but Cas's best chance was probably to have the de-aging spell reversed. Though, if Cas died, Sam would never forgive himself. And likely neither would Dean.

"Damn," Bobby uttered. "It wasn't that I didn't believe you boys, but seeing him…"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. The image of Cas lying lifeless in Dean's arms, eyes frozen open, was going to haunt Sam for a good long while.

Bobby's hand settled on his shoulder. "Come on, help me get the towels."

Nodding gravely, Sam followed Bobby into the washroom where the old dryer was rattling on high heat. Bobby popped open the door and started piling hot towels in Sam's arms. Breathing in the fresh heat was stifling, and Sam had already been sweating from having the heater blasting in the Impala, yet he hugged the towels in order to keep in as much warmth as he could while he carried them upstairs.

Dean had laid Cas in one of the spare bedrooms and pulled the covers over him, but at Sam's arrival, he peeled them back again. He slid his arms under Cas's back and knees to lift him, and damn if the kid didn't look as thin and light as a feather. Sam spread one of the bigger towels on top of the mattress. Dean gently set Cas back down, and then he and Sam draped more heated towels over him, wrapping them around the angel's arms and legs. Dean took off Cas's shoes, and Sam bunched up one towel around his feet.

"Found an electric blanket," Bobby announced as he entered.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement and accepted the blanket while Bobby maneuvered around the bed to reach an outlet. They spread that over the angel, and finally covered him with the comforter, leaving a bulging mound way too large for the tiny head sticking out on the pillow. Cas still hadn't woken up.

The three of them stood around awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what else they could do. Bobby left first, muttering something about double checking the wards and to call him if anything happened. Sam grabbed the chair from the opposite corner and dragged it over to the side of the bed for Dean to sit in. He watched helplessly as his brother sank into it, Dean's eyes never leaving Cas. Those horrific tear tracks were still on Cas's face, so Sam went into the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in hot water, then wrung it out. He brought it back to Dean, who finally blinked out of his stupor.

"Thanks." Taking the cloth, Dean gently started wiping Cas's face, washing away the last visible evidence of the horror the kid had been subjected to. Now he just looked as though he were sleeping.

Sam left then, knowing Dean needed some time alone to process things. Sam would take his turn sitting vigil later, but for now, he went back downstairs and out to the Impala to unpack their bags. They'd left the car doors hanging open, which spoke volumes about the depth of their concern for Cas. Sam went around both sides and shut them. He glanced in the backseat and saw colored pencils scattered across the leather. His first thought was Dean would be pissed if lead got smeared on his upholstery, but then realized his brother wouldn't give a damn as long as Cas would be okay.

Sam opened the back door and leaned in to gather up the pencils; Cas would want them when he woke up. A sheet of paper on the floor caught his eye, and he reached for it. It was the drawing Cas had been working on, the one Sam had asked him to make. The blank white space that'd been next to the Winchesters was now filled in with a familiar trench-coated figure. Cas's features weren't as distinct as the brothers', and his face was slightly angled away and up so that only half his profile was shown. But he was there, standing with Sam and Dean as they gazed at a diamond studded sky.

A lump settled in Sam's throat, and he had to blink back tears. He finished putting the pencils back in their box, and then reverently placed the drawing in his laptop bag with the others, all while his conversation with Cas echoed in his mind. He needed to tell Dean about the angel's feelings, because Cas was _not_ dying, and as soon as he was better and back to normal, the three of them were gonna address their issues—while they still had an opportunity to do something about it.

Sam hefted all their bags onto his shoulders and shuffled back into the house. He dropped everything in the den, except the laptop bag with Cas's sketches, and turned toward the stairs.

Bobby stepped out of the kitchen to intercept him. "Soup's simmering on the stove," he said gruffly. "Don't know if kid angels even need to eat, but it'll be hot for when he wakes up." There was a rough catch to the man's voice that revealed how concerned he was as well.

Sam gave him a grateful smile. "Kid-Cas actually does like food. Dean's been introducing him to all sorts of unhealthy sweets."

Bobby snorted. "Figures." He rolled his shoulder. "Anyway, it's there. And I know Mr. Personality is searching for a reversal spell, but I'll keep looking into it on this end."

Sam smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Bobby."

The older hunter nodded, and moved past him toward the den to resume his research. Sam headed upstairs. He stopped at the bathroom first and rifled through the cabinet under the sink until he found an old bottle of aloe vera. There was only a quarter of gel inside, and the lid looked permanently sealed with congealed crust, but it would have to do. Then Sam finally returned to the room Cas was in.

Dean hadn't moved from the chair. His arms were resting on his thighs as he leaned over his lap, gaze staring at the top of the bedcover, though Sam knew his mind was replaying the last several hours, wondering if he could have—should have—done something different.

"You should put some of this on," Sam said, and lifted the container of aloe vera to catch Dean's attention. As soon as he looked up, Sam tossed him the bottle.

Dean caught it deftly, and his nose crinkled in slight disgust. "I'm fine."

"You look like a bad advertisement for a tanning salon." Sam set his computer bag on the floor beside the bed, and went into the next room to retrieve a chair for himself. When he came back, Dean had twisted the grungy cap off and was slapping the bottom of the bottle to get the gel out.

Sam turned his attention to the small, silent form in the bed. There were so many blankets, it was impossible to tell if Cas was breathing underneath them all. Sam leaned over and tentatively laid a hand on the angel's head. His mouth turned down; Cas was still too cold. Fear lanced through Sam's heart, and he shakily moved his fingers down to the hollow underneath Cas's jaw. His shoulders sagged when he felt a pulse. It was slow, but steady.

Sam leaned back in his chair and they sat in silence for a while before he remembered the sketches in his bag. He only pulled out two—the one with Cas's hidden wings framing the Winchesters, and the one Cas had finished before he'd been taken. Sam laid them on top of the bed.

Dean's eyes slowly roved over them. "So he finished that one."

"Yeah."

Dean rested his elbows on the mattress. "What was the deal with you pushing him to draw himself?"

Sam pursed his mouth, trying to figure out where to start. He pointed to the first drawing. "Do you see wings in the shadows here?"

Dean peered closer, and after a long moment, leaned back with a, "Huh. Didn't notice that before."

Sam waited a beat to see if his brother would put the pieces together himself. When he didn't immediately volunteer anything, Sam took a centering breath. "I asked Cas about it, why his presence was hidden like that. …He said he feels like he doesn't fit with us anymore. That we call him only when we want help, but never want him to stay afterward."

Dean stiffened defensively. "Excuse me? He's the one who's been too busy to bother with us for the past year."

Sam rolled his eyes. "He _is_ fighting a war." Dean looked away guiltily at that, and Sam continued, "And despite that, he still comes when we call."

_"And then I leave...Over and over again."_ How had they gotten stuck in this cycle?

"He didn't even tell us he was the one who raised you from Hell."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, that stung, but now that he knew more, Sam tried to imagine what might have driven Cas's actions. The angel had saved Sam, brought him back to his brother, and then…well, Dean had been trying the apple-pie life. Sam had been considering going back to school, until he ran into the Campbell side of the their family and gotten sucked back into hunting. But the point was Cas had left them to live a normal life, or whatever the hell that meant to a Winchester. And in Cas's mind, it probably didn't include angels.

"Dean, after the Apocalypse, I think Cas felt like we didn't have a use for him anymore."

"That's bull." Dean crossed his arms, expression hardening. "After everything we went through together, he assumed it didn't mean anything?" Dean snorted. "Nice to know how much Cas thinks of us."

It was interesting how Dean kept avoiding looking at Cas throughout the conversation, as though he was distinguishing between the kid unconscious in the bed between them, and the angel he'd been pissed with only a few days earlier.

"You think Cas truly understands what friendship means?" Sam pressed. "Or family? His siblings cut him off from Heaven and then hunted him just because he opposed the Apocalypse. Half of them are _still_ out for his head. And the only other friend he's ever mentioned to us faked his death and ran out on everything, including him." Sam let out a breath. "Look, Cas wants to stick around; he wants to belong here. He just doesn't know how to." Sam tapped the charcoal drawing with the hidden wings as proof.

Dean stared at the drawing before finally looking at the sleeping angel. "He can be such a child sometimes."

Sam smirked at the irony. "He learned how to talk about feelings from you."

Dean scowled, but it was soon replaced with sadness. "How can he not know, Sam? I mean, he came to _us_ , and we've been taking care of him." His voice caught on the last part, choking with guilt.

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "And I told him how eating donuts, and going to the park, and just hanging out is how he fits. I think he understood, but once we figure out how to reverse this spell and get him back to normal…we need to be clear with him." That was one reason Sam had wanted Cas to draw that picture, so he'd have a tangible reminder of how much he belonged with the Winchesters.

"And we need to stop calling him only when we need help," Sam added.

Dean's brow furrowed in thought. "I know we should take more interest in this war he's fighting. And not just because the Apocalypse would be bad for us, but because Cas is in the middle of it."

Sam tried to keep the surprise off his face. So his brother had been thinking about stuff already. Well, that was a good sign.

Dean rubbed his face wearily. "If the bastard that betrayed him hadn't screwed up whatever spell he was doing, Cas might not have escaped. He might have died, and you know what I would've done the next time he didn't come when I called?" He let out a mirthless laugh. "Cursed his name to kingdom come."

Sam's gaze drifted to the little angel, pale face slack in sleep. If this hadn't happened, he and Dean probably never would've found out how Cas really felt. And wasn't that a sobering thought.

"We know better now," Sam said gently. "And we just have to make sure Cas knows better too." He gave Dean a compassionate, yet pointed look. Sam would do what he could to assure Cas of his place, but it was Dean's opinion that always carried more weight with the angel.

"Yeah." Dean reached out and laid a hand on top of Cas's head. His frown deepened. "He's not getting warmer."

Sam didn't say anything; he didn't know what to say. So he did the only thing he could—he got up to pull yet another blanket from the closet, and draped it over the small child who meant more to him and Dean than the brothers had previously acknowledged. And why did it require almost losing him for them to realize it?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's reading, commenting, and giving kudos! It's so rewarding to know people are enjoying this story.

Dean stared at the drawings Sam had left in the room. He'd had a couple hours to think about their conversation and go over the events of the past year, analyzing Cas's actions in a new light. Dean still didn't understand how Cas could just assume they only wanted him around as a tool…except that's exactly how they'd been treating him lately. And hadn't Dean planted that seed long before he and Cas had even become real friends? He remembered sitting in a park with Cas, the angel hesitant as he quietly admitted, _"I'm not a hammer, as you say,"_ as though uttering out loud the fact that he had doubts would bring down divine judgment. Or rejection. And it'd done exactly that when Cas chose to help Dean stop Sam from killing Lilith.

His younger brother was right: Cas's siblings weren't exactly good examples of what it meant to be family. Dean thought for sure he and Sam had been better than that…but when it came down to it, they'd been preoccupied with fighting the Apocalypse. That's what had united them, and Dean felt as though his bond of brotherhood with Cas had been forged on the battlefield. But what if Cas really did interpret it differently? That friendship equated with need—need for help, need for his super powers, or his knowledge.

And why would Cas have cause to think differently, when Dean didn't exactly go out of his way to show him otherwise? When was the last time Dean shared a meal with the angel the way he'd done with little Cas? Or enjoyed his company without any ulterior purposes? Or, hell, asked him a damn personal _question_?

Over two years, that's when. The first and only time was when Dean had taken Cas out for his 'last night on earth' before their showdown with Raphael. Okay, maybe Cas hadn't had the _best_ time at the 'den of iniquity,' but Dean remembered how the angel had smiled, even though he was completely clueless as to why Dean was laughing so hard at the end of the night. That had solidified their friendship in Dean's mind, and he'd assumed it had for Cas as well.

Dean set the sketches on the side table and turned to the unconscious form in the bed. "Guess we both figured wrong, huh?" he muttered.

Dean hated admitting this whole past year had been some colossal misunderstanding; it felt like such a waste. And like his hard feelings were his own fault. If Cas were his normal self, Dean would probably want to yell at him and call him an idiot, maybe throttle him. He'd never do that to kid-Cas, though. Kid-Cas, who seemed to understand a whole lot better how much the Winchesters cared for him. So why was it so hard for adult-Cas to get through his thick skull?

Dean ran a hand down his face. The angel still hadn't woken up, and the day had turned into evening. Sam had gone downstairs to fix some food for the both of them and would be bringing it back up soon. They didn't know how long they should wait before giving in and summoning Balthazar, angel ire be damned.

A small sound came from the bed, and Dean whipped his head up. Cas's face was scrunched up, and he seemed to be struggling to pry his eyelids open. Dean scooted closer. "Cas? I'm right here, you're safe."

"D'n?" Cas's eyes slowly opened and squinted at him.

"Hey, how you feeling?"

Cas turned his head from side to side, smushing his hair. "I can't move." His voice was frail and pitiful, but quickly started to become panicked. "Why can't I move?"

Dean surged out of the chair. "Whoa, hey, you're okay. It's just the heavy blankets."

"Dean?" Sam strode in, a plate stacked with two sandwiches in one hand and some beer bottles in the other. He set them on the dresser and hurried to the bedside. "What's wrong?"

"I can't move," Cas whimpered. "Let me go!"

Sam put a hand on the kid's thrashing head to try to calm him. "Cas, it's okay."

The whimpers turned to begging sobs, spurring Dean to rip the top blankets off, followed by the various towels. Sam helped, and in less than six seconds they'd thrown everything to the foot of the bed or on the floor. Cas let out a distressed hiccup as he rolled onto his side. He was shaking—or shivering—and couldn't even muster the strength to sit up. Sam exchanged an alarmed look with Dean.

Dean knelt down to Cas's eye level and gently touched his shoulder. Kid was still cold, though at least not frozen. "Cas, hey, you're safe here, I promise. Me and Sam are right here, and we're not gonna let anything hurt you." He had to swallow against the lump of guilt that tried to clog his throat, since he'd failed to keep that promise the first time. But he'd be damned if he let it happen again.

Glassy blue eyes stared back at him. "I couldn't move," Cas whimpered. "I begged him to stop, but he wouldn't listen, and I couldn't _move_." His whole body shuddered, eliciting another choked sob.

Dean's stomach clenched, and he glanced at his brother; Cas had said, 'he.' Maybe the kid was confused again, or maybe he was reliving the moments of the attack that led to his being turned into a child. It sounded like Cas had been immobilized somehow…and waking up with heavy blankets sitting on his chest had probably triggered a memory. Not to mention remembering Hel holding him down couldn't have helped things either.

A muscle in Sam's jaw ticked as he took a moment to process that as well. He eased himself onto the edge of the bed and reached over to rub Cas's back. The kid was a coiled knot of tension, but at the touch he seemed to calm a little. Dean rubbed his arm.

"I'm sorry waking up like that scared you," he said. "But you need the blankets, okay? You need to get warm." The fact that Cas was still weak and hadn't banished the chill was worrying.

Sam grabbed the electric blanket from the foot of the bed and lightly spread it over Cas. "Hey, Bobby made you soup. If I bring some up, will you try to eat?"

"How's that sound, Cas?" Dean prompted when the kid didn't immediately respond.

Cas gave a minute nod, and Sam slid off the bed to hurry back downstairs. Dean ran his gaze over the small angel, who was still trembling. The blanket wasn't gonna be enough. Dean gently picked him up and sat on the bed himself, leaning back against the headboard with Cas propped up in his arms. Maybe body heat would help. _Something_ needed to.

"This okay?" Dean asked. He figured avoiding positioning Cas flat on his back for a while would be a good thing.

Cas nodded with a sniffle. Dean tucked the edges of the blanket closer around his small body to keep in as much warmth as possible, and then smoothed some of the kid's mussed hair back. There were so many things he wanted to tell Cas, to clear the air between them…but now wasn't the time. He had to content himself with the fact that this right here was enough to show kid-Cas he was loved and cared for. …And this was gonna make things really awkward when Cas was changed back into an adult. _Or maybe it would help_.

Dean sighed. Their lives were too weird.

Sam came back with a steaming ceramic mug, lips quirking at the sight of them. Dean decided to hold back the snarky comments for now. Sam sat on the side of the bed and stirred the soup a few times before lifting out a spoonful. He tried it first, probably to check the temperature, and then coaxed Cas into opening his mouth. Cas accepted the soup, expression mildly curious as he swallowed.

"Taste good?" Sam asked.

Cas nodded. He was like a baby bird, taking spoonful after spoonful of soup as Sam gingerly fed them to him.

"What, no airplane?" Dean finally jibed.

Sam shot him a wry look.

They'd gotten half the soup down Cas before the kid's eyelids started drooping. There was a slight flush to his cheeks that suggested the hot liquid had done him some good at least. Dean's stomach was rumbling, and the sandwiches Sam had made were still sitting on the dresser, but he was loathe to disentangle himself from Cas. The kid needed rest, and Dean didn't want to lay him down and risk another rude wake-up call like the first.

"Pass me a sandwich, would you?" he asked.

Sam smirked as he got up to set the soup on the dresser and pick up the plate instead. "You want the airplane?"

Dean scowled, and worked one arm out from under Cas. He waved impatiently for Sam to hand him food. Grinning, Sam held the plate out, and Dean snatched the top sandwich off it. Then Sam settled back on the bed, and they both ate in silence while they watched Cas sleep. At least this time the kid looked more peaceful and less…dead. The bread and mustard turned to sandpaper in Dean's mouth, and he forcibly swallowed.

"Do you think…" he started. "Hel didn't cause any permanent damage, right?" Because Cas always bounced back from injuries.

Sam chewed for an extra moment before swallowing. "I don't know," he said quietly. "Only Cas can tell us that, but…"

"It's not something I particularly want to ask him," Dean finished.

"Yeah." Setting his sandwich on the plate, Sam reached out and placed the back of his hand on Cas's cheek. "He's getting better, though. Maybe…we should just wait and see."

Dean nodded around another mouthful. That was all they could do at this point.

* * *

It was another day before Cas was strong enough to get out of bed. He still caught a chill way too easily, but Sam had found a box of their old clothes in Bobby's attic, from one of those many instances when John had dropped them at Singer Salvage for months at a time. Dean couldn't believe Bobby had saved all that crap, but then, the older man never threw anything away. Which turned out to be a good thing because Sam found some clothes that would fit Cas, and they were able to bundle him up in extra layers.

They kept feeding him soup, too, and hot chocolate, which Cas had been asking for nonstop since he started feeling better. Dean was happy to give him whatever he wanted, though Sam kept insisting Cas could only have the hot chocolate after yet another cup of vegetable soup. Bobby had just rolled his eyes at the lot of them and barked that the boys were covering the next grocery run.

"Bobby, may I have some more paper please?"

Dean looked up from the lore book he was reading on transfiguration; they'd made zero progress on figuring out how to change Cas back. The kid angel was currently standing next to Bobby's desk, a colored pencil clutched in one hand. Overall, Cas was a pretty mild kid, and it didn't take much to keep him entertained. But in two days, he had gone through half of a notebook that Bobby normally used for research and stuff.

The older man huffed. "Again? Do you think paper grows on trees?"

Cas tilted his head. "Mhm, paper is made from trees, so…yes!" He beamed at the hunter. "Paper grows on trees."

Dean bit back a chuckle.

Bobby glared at them both. "Dean, take your angel outside for a bit."

Dean rolled his eyes, but set the book on the couch and stood up. "Come on, Cas. Sam will be back from the store soon and then you can have some hot chocolate." Not to mention a proper sketchbook, which the brothers had agreed to buy for the angel so his drawings wouldn't have to be scattered all over the place anymore.

Cas bounded over, request for paper momentarily forgotten. He pulled up short as he remembered the pencil in his hand, darted back to set it on Bobby's desk, and then scurried ahead of Dean to get to the door. Guess they'd been keeping him cooped up more than they realized.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun was out, the warmest part of the day, but there was a slight breeze, and Dean still worried about Cas getting cold. "Let me grab you a jacket, okay?" Dean called as Cas ran out onto the grass. The kid already had on a sweater, but Dean was taking no chances. He stepped back inside to retrieve a small jacket that had once been Sam's, and when he returned outside, Cas was nowhere in sight.

"Cas?" Dean spun around, scanning the driveway and the section of scrap yard visible from the front of the house. Adrenaline spiked through him when he couldn't spot the little angel. "Cas!"

"Yes, Dean?" a small voice filtered down.

Dean whipped his head up, heart dropping into his stomach when he found Cas on the friggin' _roof_. "What the hell are you doing up there?" he shouted, fear making him snap.

"Stretching my wings," Cas replied, and took a few steps across the slats that made Dean's heart nearly seize. "I like this view," he continued nonchalantly.

"Cas, you get your ass down here right now!"

Cas shot him a startled look, and for a moment, Dean had the horrible vision of the kid simply jumping off the roof. But one second Cas was standing up there, and the next he'd vanished. There was the sound of tiny wingbeats, and then Cas stumbled into sight in front of Dean.

Cas's face scrunched up in consternation. "I still can't land smoothly."

Dean dropped to the ground and took him roughly by the shoulders. "Don't you ever do that again. You could have fallen and hurt yourself!"

Wide blue eyes blinked owlishly at him. "I'm sorry," he said pitifully.

Dean sighed, and forced his tone down to a more reasonable level. "No, I'm sorry for yelling. You just scared me. You can't go flying off, and you _cannot_ go prancing around on the roof."

"Okay," Cas said in a small, dejected voice. His shoulders bunched, and for a moment Dean was reminded of those wings he'd seen at the park. Crap, he was so not qualified to take care of a fledgling.

"Are your wings okay?" he asked hesitantly. Because it wasn't like Dean knew how to help if they weren't. "Do they hurt?"

Cas shook his head, gaze fixed on the ground.

Dean loosened his grip on the kid's shoulders and rubbed his arms. "Hey, I know I don't know much about angels, but I want to help if I can. But you gotta tell me."

Cas shifted his weight, scuffing his shoe through the dirt. "I don't know how to fix them."

Dean frowned. "Fix them? Are you hurt? Did…" he cut off asking if Hel had done something to Cas's wings.

Cas didn't seem to notice. "They're _wrong_."

Wrong? Oh, wait, the wrong color. That's what had upset Cas when he'd first seen his wings. Balthazar had said not to bring it up, but there was no way Dean was gonna let the kid continue thinking his wings were something to be ashamed of.

Dean eased himself down to sit crosslegged on the ground, gently pulling Cas down next to him. "How are they supposed to be?"

"White." Cas's brows knitted together. "No, they're black now."

Dean's chest constricted, now that he knew how that had happened. "So they changed color?"

Cas poked his finger in the dirt and started tracing random swirls. "They were white. …And then I raised you from perdition." Cas rolled his shoulder.

Dean thought he might be sick, but he forced himself to keep it together. "Hey, uh, what color are Balthazar's wings?" The dick-angel had hinted that he'd been to Hell with Cas and come back…changed.

Cas cocked his head as he tried to remember. "White, of course. And…and some gray. And brown." He pushed more dirt around.

"So not every angel has all white wings," Dean prompted.

Cas pursed his mouth. "No…others have battle scars. But mine are the darkest." He got to his feet then and started walking circles around Dean, arms spread out for balance—or to imitate flying.

Dean didn't know quite what to say. He'd never really given much thought to Cas's wings. Out of sight, out of mind. And it made sense for child-Cas to be upset and confused by the current state of them, but could it be that adult-Cas also felt ashamed of them? It was such a foreign concept to Dean, because Cas had always been this confident, staunch soldier, unafraid of anything…but Dean was beginning to realize that Cas did have a lot more emotions that the angel just never shared. And that Dean needed to pay more attention to.

He reached out to snag Cas's arm when the kid walked past again. "Hey, your wings are _nothing_ to be ashamed of."

"They're ugly," Cas said matter-of-factly, as though he'd been told it often enough. And considering the dick angels he used to hang with, Dean had no trouble believing that's what happened.

"They're not," he insisted. "You know what scars show? That you survived." Dean shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing the handprint scar. "Do you think this is ugly?"

Cas studied it for a moment. "No."

Dean smiled. In truth, he'd never thought of his scar as particularly _ugly_ , though he'd never appreciated it either. Until it'd helped him save Cas. "Me neither. And I don't think your wings are ugly. I think they're friggin' awesome and strong, and any scars show that you did something none of those other angels did. You raised me from Hell."

Dean paused, suddenly wondering whether Cas had gained even more scars when he'd gone back to the Pit to rescue Sam. But he wasn't gonna ask the kid that, and it wasn't something Sam needed on his shoulders. Dean carrying the weight of such knowledge was enough for the both of them.

Cas's mouth turned up slightly, and he reached out to touch the handprint scar. "It was worth it."

A lump tried to settle in Dean's throat, so he cleared it and picked up his jacket. "Let's go back inside. Hey, have you drawn a picture for Bobby yet? Maybe that will butter him up into giving you more paper."

"Okay!" Cas beamed, and Dean was grateful for how easy it was to cheer him up and redirect him. There was only so much heart-to-heart Dean could take at one time, and he needed to pace himself for when they got Cas back to normal…when the even harder topics would come up.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean slammed his latest lore book closed and shoved it to the side. Another bust. There just wasn't much on angels, let alone spells powerful enough to de-age one. Sam gave him a sympathetic look from across the card table before returning to his own tome. Dean didn't pick up the next volume in the stack, but shifted his gaze to Cas, who was lying on his stomach on the floor, sketchbook open in front of him, colored pencils arrayed like scattered feathers. Kid was the happiest camper after Sam presented him with the drawing pad, and watching his eyes light up with excitement had brought a smile to Dean's face.

He felt a twinge of guilt; he wished Cas didn't have to go back to fighting a war, to risking his life or being…miserable. Granted, he couldn't stay a kid forever. But…Dean had actually _enjoyed_ his time with little Cas. And how screwed up was it that he almost wished his best friend could stay this way—innocent and…happy.

_Happiness ain't in the cards for us_ , he thought bitterly. And since Cas had become an honorary Winchester, it wasn't in the cards for him either. Still, this picturesque moment was something to treasure.

Cas set his pencil down and bounded off the floor with the sketchbook, which he presented to Bobby. "Dean said I should make this for you."

Bobby didn't say anything for a long moment, causing Dean and Sam to exchange piqued looks. Curious, they both leaned over to try to see what Cas had drawn.

Bobby took the drawing pad from Cas and studied it some more, then flicked an indignant look Dean's way. "Did he now?"

Dean glanced at Sam again. _Okay, what'd I do?_ Sam just shrugged, still unable to see the drawing either.

Bobby held up the sketchbook toward them, and Dean nearly choked. The likeness was uncanny, all the way down to the bristling beard and wrinkled forehead. Dark eyes glowered at the viewer, and if Cas would just add a shotgun, they could post that portrait in the window as a 'Beware of Homeowner' sign.

Dean raised his palms at Bobby's accusing expression. "I did not tell him how to draw you, I swear."

Sam tried clearing his throat to cover a laugh. "You gotta admit, it's a perfect resemblance."

Bobby scowled in an almost exact replica of the sketch, and Dean nearly choked again trying not to laugh.

"I do not always look so constipated," Bobby groused.

"You're curmudgeonly," Cas corrected.

Dean burst into a fit of laughter, as did Sam. They both tried to control themselves, but whenever they caught sight of Bobby holding that sketch, it started all over again. Cas stared at them, mouth quirking as though the mirth was contagious, but also looking perplexed as to what was so funny. It was so adorable, it only made Dean laugh harder. His stomach muscles ached, and Sam's face was red, but they just couldn't stop.

"Are they okay?" Cas asked Bobby.

The older hunter rolled his eyes and handed the sketchbook back to him. "They're idjits. Why don't you go draw these two stooges with their mouths hanging open like that. Don't forget that particular shade of pink they're turning right now."

Cas giggled. "If they're not careful, lightning bugs might fly in their mouths."

Bobby blinked dubiously. "Yeah, sure, draw some of those too." He shot another scalding look at the boys. "Right inside their giant traps."

Dean wiped at his eyes. "Come on, Bobby, you know the kid's got you pegged."

"Good ole, grumpy, Uncle Bobby," Sam pitched in, spurring another round of snickering.

"I'm surrounded by infants," the older man muttered, and huffily went back to the book he was reading.

It was hard for Dean to get his focus back after that. Not that he'd had much to begin with. He got up to go into the kitchen and make a sandwich, when the flutter of wingbeats disturbed the air.

"Balthazar!" Cas exclaimed, and jumped up. Balthazar looked momentarily stunned as Cas threw his arms around the taller angel's legs in an excited hug.

"Uh, hey, Cas." He awkwardly placed a hand on the kid's head. "The Winchesters been taking good care of you?"

Dean tensed; he was not looking forward to mentioning Hel to the angel. But he apparently didn't need to worry just yet, because Cas nodded enthusiastically.

"They make me hot chocolate. And look! Dean got me pencils and Sam gave me a sketchbook." Cas whirled around to scoop up his drawing pad and proudly show it off.

Balthazar looked taken aback once more, and it was almost amusing how easily Cas could make the smarmy dick off balance. Balthazar cleared his throat, and there was an odd catch in his voice. "That's great, Cas."

"So you just stoppin' in to say hi, or do you have something?" Dean interrupted.

Balthazar shook off whatever private thoughts he was entertaining, and turned a haughty glare on the Winchester. "Not that you'd appreciate how much effort it took, but I did figure out the spell Castiel's assailant intended to use. As suspected, it was meant to extract information."

Dean glanced at Cas, who was once again doing that intentional-ignoring-of-topics-he-didn't-like by focusing on arranging his colored pencils in a rainbow line.

"So how'd this happen?" Bobby asked gruffly, gesturing to the oblivious kid.

Balthazar crossed his arms. "The ingredients accidentally interacted with the binding sigil, which happened to have his name. Frankly, it's a bloody miracle he didn't explode."

Dean's stomach churned. _"I shattered, and I couldn't find all the pieces,"_ echoed in his mind in Cas's small voice. He swallowed hard. "Cas said…he said he shattered. There aren't literally pieces of him floating around, are there?"

Balthazar's gaze flicked to the kid-angel. "No. His grace is all there, but in a sense…yes, it's shattered. He's a fledgling, but with most of his adult memories in tact. It leaves everything…a mess."

"How do we fix it?" Sam spoke up.

Balthazar dropped his arms to his sides. "I rounded up all the same ingredients, and if we mix them over a sigil of his name, paired with the opposite of a binding trap, it should theoretically reverse the results."

"Wait, you're not sure?" Dean took a menacing step toward the angel, forgetting for a moment that the guy could smite him with a snap of his fingers. But they sure as hell weren't going to take chances with Cas's life.

"This whole thing was a random _accident_ ," Balthazar retorted. "There's no formal spell, and therefore no counter. All we can do is try to reverse it and hope for the best."

Dean stared at him incredulously. " _That's_ your solution? 'Hope for the best'? I thought Cas was your friend? Your _brother_? And you're willing to risk him over a 'maybe'?"

"You think I like this?" Balthazar snarled, taking a step forward. Static crackled on the air, and Dean gave ground without thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bobby reaching for a gun in the desk drawer.

"I would do anything for Castiel," Balthazar seethed. "He was my brother long before you hairless apes crawled out of the muck. But there is no precedent for this, no one we could ask for a second opinion. Except maybe dear old dad, but we all know how reliable _he_ is," he added scornfully.

Dean wanted to argue, but the damn angel had a point. And Dean hated it.

"Please don't fight," Cas's small voice broke in.

Both Dean and Balthazar turned their heads to where Cas stood, clutching a handful of pencils to his chest. Dean wanted to reassure him, but he could feel himself radiating frustration and tension, though not all of it was directed toward Balthazar, just at the situation itself.

Sam was the one who moved to kneel next to the little angel. "They're just worried. Remember how sometimes that can sound angry?"

Cas flashed a skeptical look their way.

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Sam's right, Cas. I'm sorry for yelling again."

Cas hesitantly made his way over, slipping a hand into Dean's. "I don't want you to worry."

He couldn't help but smile, and squeezed back.

Balthazar lowered his voice as he leaned toward Dean's ear. "He can't stay like this."

Dean knew it was true, and yet it terrified him to perform some harebrained, untested spell on Cas. What if it didn't help? Or what if it made things worse? He lifted a hardened gaze to Balthazar. "You sure about this?"

The angel's mouth pressed into a thin line, and he glanced at Cas again. "We don't have another choice."

Right, when did they ever?

Dean gave a sharp nod. "What do you need?"

"I have the ingredients, but we'll need something to draw the sigil."

"I'll get the spray paint," Sam volunteered.

Bobby heaved himself out of his chair. "Guess I'll clear a spot out back."

Cas bounded after him. "I want to go outside."

Bobby grumbled under his breath, but didn't turn the kid away. They both departed, leaving Dean alone with Balthazar, who was staring at one of Cas's drawings on the floor next to his feet. He slowly bent down to pick it up, holding the paper with more care than Dean had seen the angel exercise…ever.

"Castiel was always an artist," Balthazar said softly. "He used to paint the sky with clouds and colors."

Now it was Dean's turn to be taken aback—aside from kid-Cas's penchant for drawing, Dean never would've guessed Castiel, angel of the Lord, was anything more than a soldier. "I didn't know that," he said in a quiet voice. There was a lot he didn't know about his 'best friend.'

Balthazar set the drawing on a side table. "It's been a long time since he's done it." In a swish of wings, he was gone, presumably outside after Bobby since angels could rarely be bothered to use doors.

Dean turned in a half-circle, roving his gaze over the colored pencils and sketchbook. Gathering them up, he set them on the table where they wouldn't accidentally get stepped on, and then went to join everyone.

Sam brought out a can of white spray paint and started outlining swirls and whorls according to a sketch Balthazar had provided. Dean recognized some similarities with the drawing Cas had made before, probably the angel's name in the equation. Said angel was standing off to the side, watching the activity with an ever-increasing frown. Crap, what they were doing was probably going to trigger a flashback.

Dean walked over and crouched down to Cas's eye level. "Everything will be okay, buddy." He hoped to God it was true.

Cas turned solemn eyes toward him. "I don't want to leave."

"You're not going anywhere," Dean assured. "This will change you back to normal."

"Which means I leave."

Dean felt an annoying tightening in his chest. Dammit, it wasn't _his_ fault Cas always left…was it? "You don't have to." Except, there was that whole war in Heaven thing. Dean ran a weary hand down his face. "Listen, Cas, I know things have been…off, between us. But you'll always have a place here, when you want. You're family."

Cas smiled shyly. "I'd rather be here."

Dean didn't know if that was mostly kid-Cas talking or not, but he smiled back and patted his shoulder. "Good."

He stood up and turned to face the spell preparations, when a puff of air heralded the arrival of someone Dean had never seen before. He instinctively tensed at the man suddenly standing between him and the others, long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. By the suit, Dean guessed 'angel,' and he shot Balthazar a 'what-the-hell' look; the douchebag hadn't mentioned bringing company.

Balthazar stilled from where he was mixing the spell ingredients, expression a mask of impassivity. "Obadiah…" he said slowly. "What a surprise. Checking up on me?"

The strange angel's eyes gradually roved over the setup, but he had as much of a poker face as most winged dicks. "I saw you gathering some rather unusual spell ingredients," he began. "I thought perhaps you had found a way to locate Castiel, and wanted to offer my assistance."

"Well, thanks," Balthazar drawled. "But I'm sure you have better things to do."

"You do not think retrieving our leader is of the utmost importance?" 'Obadiah' countered.

Dean felt small hands clutch at his jeans, and glanced down to find Cas trying to hide behind him. The hunter's guard immediately went up. He wanted to tell the intruder to get lost, but didn't want to draw his gaze. It didn't matter, because a second later Obadiah was appraising him…and his eyes narrowed on Cas. The strange angel scrutinized him for a long moment before sucking in a gasp.

"It can't be…" He threw a questioning look to Balthazar for confirmation. No one said anything, but the tense look on everyone's faces was answer enough. Obadiah turned his attention back to Cas. "What happened to him?" he asked cautiously.

"Don't know," Dean spoke up quickly, before anyone else could. "Cas isn't able to say." He did not like the way this guy was eyeing Cas, and shifted to block his view.

Obadiah flicked his gaze back to the sigil Sam had been painting, and then to the ingredients Balthazar had. "This is…an interesting approach." His jaw worked as though there was another question rolling around on his tongue that he was afraid to let out.

The others were regarding him with equal suspicion as well. "Why were you in the archives when you're supposed to be scouting Raphael's holdings?" Balthazar asked coolly.

Obadiah drew his shoulders back. "That is dangerous work. I thought I might find a spell of concealment."

"Or a spell for something else."

The two angels stared unflinchingly at each other for several long moments before Balthazar spoke again, slowly, and with an air of authority Dean had never heard from the normally blasé angel. "I've got this covered. You can go."

Obadiah's mouth thinned, and he glanced at Cas cowering behind Dean. The poker face cracked with resignation. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"It was you," Dean accused. "You trapped Cas and did… _this_ to him."

Obadiah canted his head curiously at the child. "This…" he gestured vaguely. "Was not my intention. In truth, I thought he'd died in the unfortunate accident."

Dean's blood started to boil, and if he wasn't busy shielding Cas, he might've tossed common sense out the window and charged forward to punch the guy.

"You little prick," Balthazar snarled.

Obadiah raised his palms. "Castiel left me no choice, Balthazar. He wouldn't use the heavenly weapons. You _know_ we're outmatched." The angel's expression morphed into contempt. "But Castiel is too noble; he won't use the one advantage we have!"

"He has his reasons," Balthazar retorted.

Obadiah scoffed. "Yes, he thinks the other angels have been deceived and deserve the chance to repent. You know what they deserve? Judgment."

Dean did not like where this was going. He saw Bobby slip a knife from his belt and move the blade to his forearm, but Sam stopped him. If he was thinking of an angel banishing sigil, then they'd lose Cas too. Dean half turned and picked the kid up, still angling him away from Obadiah, but determined not to give the bastard a chance to snatch Cas away like Hel had.

Obadiah turned back to them. "I regret how things played out, but I just needed information."

Dean's arms tightened around Cas. "Well he can't tell you now. Your spell scrambled his memories."

Obadiah frowned, and glanced at Balthazar.

The Brit shrugged. "If I'd known you were behind this, we wouldn't be standing here right now."

"Hm. Well then, you must know where the weapons are, Balthazar. Since you stole them in the first place. You can bring them to me."

Balthazar snorted. "And why would I do that?"

Obadiah quirked a genuinely perplexed look at him. "Because you want us to win the war, don't you? Or do you truly have no allegiance aside from personal gain? Which, still, defeating Raphael will benefit you."

Balthazar's eyes hardened, and he flicked a brief look at Cas. "I have allegiances, which is more than can be said for you."

Obadiah regarded him for a long moment. "Alright then. I will give you one hour to deliver the heavenly weapons to me. If you do not, well…" Obadiah shrugged. "I will be forced into more regrettable actions."

He disappeared in a flutter of wings, and for a moment Dean thought they were safe. But a split second later, a hand clamped around his shoulder, and Bobby's yard disappeared in a whirl of wind and light. Dean stumbled when his feet touched solid ground in the next instant, and he almost lost his balance with Cas still in his arms. They were in a dingy warehouse, light dimly filtering through browning windows. There was a sigil on the floor several feet away, one Dean immediately recognized. He backed away from it, heart rate kicking into overdrive.

Obadiah appeared in front of him. "I see how Castiel escaped now," he remarked, holding up a pair of sigiled cuffs that were obviously too large to fit around Cas's tiny wrists. The little angel made a distressed sound in the back of his throat and clung tighter to Dean.

"Back off, asshole," Dean snapped, recoiling another step.

Obadiah ignored him, studying the manacles with a thoughtful mien. He yanked the chains from the cuffs as though they were no stronger than twigs, and then turned to rummage through a pile of rubbish. Dean ran his gaze over the warehouse, searching for an exit. Yet even if he found one, he likely wouldn't get far when the angel could simply zap over to intercept any escape attempt.

A clatter rang out as Obadiah lifted up a long length of chain. He placed the last link on the ends between his palms, along with the clasps on the cuffs. Light glowed for a brief moment, and when he opened his hands, the chain had been welded to the manacles. Obadiah turned and strode back toward Dean. He retreated instinctively, trying to shield Cas away from the angel, but of course he didn't get far. Obadiah flicked his wrist, and the chains whipped up and around Dean three times before the manacles snapped over his own wrists. Cas let out a whimper, his body slumping heavier in Dean's arms.

"That will do," Obadiah said, and then pivoted on his heel to walk away.

Dean shifted against the chains, but they didn't budge. He craned his neck to look at Cas, who had dropped his head onto Dean's shoulder, eyes wide and terrified, limbs rigid even as they seemed slack. The sigils might not be doing anything to Dean, but they were apparently exerting a binding force on Cas. So much for the kid being able to fly out of there. Dean wracked his brain for a plan, but was coming up empty. Even though he wasn't tied to anything, how far was he gonna get with chains keeping his arms full of kid-angel? Not to mention he had no idea where they were. Hell, they might not even be in Sioux Falls anymore, or the damn state.

Dean let out a breath full of tension. They were in deep shit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say I am blown away by the support for this fic. You all are such an encouraging audience. Thank you. :)

Dean didn't consider little Cas heavy, but holding him for more than fifteen minutes with chains wrapped around his upper arms was starting to wear on Dean's muscles. He managed to slide himself down against a support column to sit on the ground with Cas in his lap. Dean hated feeling helpless, hated that he had no way to attempt picking the locks on the cuffs, and absolutely hated that their rescue was dependent on one pompous, dickwad angel. He sighed, and tried to unbend his locked elbows without jostling Cas too much.

"I'm sorry, Dean," the kid's small voice spoke up.

"For what, buddy?"

Cas lifted his head from where it'd been resting on Dean's shoulder. "You shouldn't be here."

"Hey, I'm glad I am." And he was. Dean would rather be trussed up like this than have Cas in this goon's clutches, scared and alone. He frowned when the kid shuddered. "Are the sigils hurting you?"

Cas started to nod, paused, and then shook his head. "I can't stretch my wings."

"I know. It'll be okay, though. Balthazar will come get us." And boy did that irk Dean to say. He had more faith in Sam and Bobby than he did the angel. But then, Balthazar _was_ Cas's brother, and the promise of rescue coming from him probably meant more to Cas than it did Dean.

Cas tried to nestle further into him. "I'm cold."

Dean tensed. He was still worried about Cas having not fully recovered from his time with Hel, and this dank warehouse was definitely not good for him. He tried to maneuver Cas so that he could wrap part of his coat around the kid, but the chains just didn't allow enough room.

"Hang in there, okay?" Dean murmured.

Footsteps interrupted them as Obadiah approached. Cas stiffened, and Dean hugged him closer.

"Remarkable," Obadiah breathed, stopping to loom over them. "Fledglings are more or less an extinct species, you know."

"You're a real class act, threatening one," Dean retorted.

"It brings me no pleasure to do so."

He snorted. "And that's supposed to make it okay?"

Obadiah's spine straightened. "It makes me better than the barbaric angels on Raphael's side who enjoy tormenting our siblings." His mouth curled into a sneer. "They would not show Castiel mercy, even in this state. There is only one way to combat such evil, and yet Castiel will not fight fire with fire."

Dean wanted to argue, to defend Cas on principle, but in truth he didn't know why Cas had gone to all the trouble of getting those heavenly weapons if he wasn't going to use them. No, that wasn't right; Dean had heard Obadiah claim that Cas believed the other angels had been deceived by Raphael. Which…sure, maybe. Cas had once bought into the lies of Paradise and the Apocalypse himself, after all. And the angels were his family. Sort of. Cas would kill if he needed to, but he always grieved over it.

"The ends don't justify the means," Dean said, because it seemed like something Cas would respond with.

"As if you are in any position to _lecture me_."

Dean's jaw tightened. Yeah, the Winchesters had plenty of firsthand experience with that. "Then you should know better."

"I know Heaven will be a better place once I'm done! And I need not explain myself to you!"

"Maybe you should explain it to Cas. You know, _your brother_."

Obadiah's gaze shifted a fraction to the little angel, who stared back up at him wide-eyed. It may have put a chink in their captor's granite expression, but Dean couldn't tell.

"If you tell me where the weapons are, Castiel, we need not go through with this," Obadiah said calmly.

Dean didn't know whether he hoped Cas would just tell the douchewad or stand firm. Sure, after Raphael was defeated, there'd be trouble, but wasn't there always? And even though it wasn't what Cas wanted, Dean would take just about any alternative if it kept him safe.

But Cas just shook his head and buried his face in Dean's shoulder.

Obadiah's eyes hardened, and he continued gazing down at Cas for a prolonged moment. "Well then, perhaps there is a way Castiel can still aid our cause. Balthazar's attempt to restore him is noble, but most likely futile." He hummed thoughtfully. "A fledgling's power can be quite immense, perhaps enough, along with the weapons, to win the war."

Dean tightened his grip on Cas as terror spiked through him. "What happened to being better than Raphael?"

"It is a sacrifice I'm sure Castiel would willingly make. And I will make sure everyone knows of it. He will be remembered as a hero."

"You gonna tell everyone you're the one who strapped him down and drained him dry?" Dean snarled. Cas whimpered into his chest, and Dean cupped the side of his head protectively. "'Cause I'm sure that'll go over well."

A muscle in Obadiah's jaw ticked, and Dean knew the bastard was planning on glossing over that fact. But Dean would die before he let the angel drain Cas's grace like Hel had tried to do.

"I swear to your deadbeat dad I will kill you if you touch him."

The angel scoffed. "Outwitting Lucifer has given you delusions of grandeur. You're nothing more than an ant."

"An ant who put _two_ archangels in the Cage."

"Yes, and the first thing Raphael will do when he wins this war is open that Cage. And you'll be Michael's first stop on the comeback tour." Obadiah snorted. "I'm doing _you_ a favor."

Just the thought of the imprisoned archangel sent chills down Dean's spine. He'd sacrificed his brother to see the Apocalypse averted, Lucifer stuck back in Hell…he was not willing to sacrifice another to keep it that way.

_Dammit, Balthazar, hurry_.

As though he had heard Dean's silent plea, the angel appeared behind them, dropping a handful of items on the floor with a raucous clatter. There was a sword, a spear, a chalice, a massive book at least a foot wide, a ram's horn…and a _harp_?

Obadiah turned, and ran his gaze over the items. "I am glad you saw reason, Balthazar."

The other angel's eyes flicked to Dean and Cas, briefly taking them in before returning to Obadiah. "And now it's your turn."

Obadiah hummed in the back of his throat as he took a step forward. "I've been thinking about things…"

"Never a good sign with you," Balthazar remarked, eyes narrowing as Obadiah drew closer to him.

"I need Castiel out of the way until I've finished punishing Raphael's followers." He paused, canting his head in consideration. "Are you willing to fight alongside me, Balthazar? Delay that spell you were preparing just for a little while."

"He's lying!" Dean shouted. "He wants to steal Cas's grace!"

Obadiah waved a hand, and an invisible pressure closed around Dean's throat. He sucked in a ragged gasp, but was unable to fill his lungs.

"Dean? Dean!" Cas cried frantically, wriggling in his arms and against the chains.

Dean's throat was burning, the sound of his own choking echoing in his ears. Spots started bursting across his vision, but he still saw the glint of metal as Balthazar drew his angel blade. The angel lunged at Obadiah, who twisted away at the last second. The force squeezing Dean's neck evaporated, and he coughed violently as fresh, cold air seared his throat.

The screech of crossed blades filled the warehouse, and Dean blinked his vision clear to see the two angels locked in combat. Obadiah swiped his own blade at Balthazar's chest, but the British angel ducked and spun around. Then he slashed and Obadiah parried.

"Why are you fighting me, Balthazar?" Obadiah raged. "We're on the same side!"

"Your definition of ally is worse than mine." Balthazar thrust forward, but Obadiah brought his blade up to block. Celestial alloy met with a resounding clang, and for a moment the two angels were poised like statues, arms practically vibrating as each tried to overpower the other. Then Balthazar pushed himself away. Dancing back a few steps, he and Obadiah began circling each other.

Dean wished he could get up and reach one of those heavenly weapons discarded on the floor, but it wasn't as though he could wield anything with his arms bound. Yet, the angels were drifting closer, the 'ant' probably forgotten. Well, Dean would show him.

He pulled his leg up and worked the knife in his boot free. He hadn't retrieved it before because it wouldn't have done any good, but now he gripped the hilt in one hand, and as Obadiah sidestepped too close, he jabbed the blade into the back of the angel's calf. It didn't even elicit a cry of pain, but Obadiah whirled in surprise and indignation, which was enough of an opening for Balthazar.

The British angel surged forward and rammed his blade into Obadiah's chest. Obadiah threw his head back with a pained cry as brilliant white light burst from his mouth and eyes. Dean dropped his knife and threw his hand over Cas's head to shield his face, squeezing his own eyes shut against the impending nova. A rush of air slapped the side of his head, and in the ensuing silence, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor echoed dully.

Dean slowly turned his head and opened his eyes. Obadiah lay on the floor, vessel empty. Balthazar stood over them with a masked expression as he gazed down at his slain brother. Then he looked at Dean.

"Is he okay?"

Dean removed his hand from Cas's head and turned to catch the kid's eye. Cas was pale and trembling slightly. "I think he could use a hot chocolate."

With a wry smirk, Balthazar flicked his hand, and the cuffs fell from Dean's wrists. He shrugged out of the chains as fast as he could, holding up Cas as the kid got shakily to his feet. Dean rubbed his sore throat, and thought that he wouldn't mind going for a hot chocolate either.

Two tiny fingers entered his vision, reaching for his forehead. Dean jerked back and trapped Cas's hand in his own. "Whoa there, buddy, I'm fine. Let's save your mojo for now, okay?"

Cas pursed his lips in a pout that made Dean simultaneously feel bad while also wanting to laugh. Then the kid looked up at Balthazar.

"What? Are you bloody kidding me? He's fine."

Dean was about to add he didn't need—or want—Balthazar healing him, but Cas pulled out the puppy look. The same one he'd been using to get hot chocolate the past couple days. Balthazar blinked in bewilderment, but Dean could see the angel's resolve was quickly melting.

"Alright, fine."

Dean still wanted to protest, but before he could, Cas's face brightened, and the words died in his slightly swollen throat. Balthazar reached down, yet instead of the customary touch to the forehead, he flicked his forefinger dead center.

"Ow!" Dean rocked back, knocking against the support column. The throb from Balthazar's 'bedside manner' faded, and then Dean noticed that his throat felt fine again.

"There, all better," Balthazar huffed. "Happy?"

Cas nodded. "Thank you."

Dean scrambled to his feet. "Yeah, thanks a bunch," he muttered. He picked Cas up again, regardless of the kid now being able to stand. He'd had too many close calls recently.

Dean ran his gaze over the warehouse: the dead angel and sigil painted on the floor. When the scene was found, it'd be reported as a mysterious murder with ties to the occult, something the Winchesters would normally investigate. But this was case closed as far as Dean was concerned.

He glanced over the pile of items Balthazar had brought. "So those are the heavenly weapons."

Balthazar snorted. "Of course not, you moron. You think I'd let that traitor anywhere near weapons that can hurt angels?"

Dean's brows rose sharply. Well, at least the guy played a good bluff. "Is Sam still at Bobby's?"

"That's where I left him."

Right, because the angel would never accept help from a 'hairless ape.' Sam was probably pissed and freaking out.

Balthazar turned to the sigil and held his hand over it until his palm started to glow. The white lines smoldered and burned. Then with a wave of his arm, a wind brushed through the warehouse, scattering the ash until nothing remained of Castiel's name or the binding sigil for anyone else to use.

"Right then." Balthazar clapped his hands together. "All aboard." He stretched two fingers to Dean's forehead, who had to resist the urge to flinch away. Once again, he and Cas were swallowed up in a vortex of wind and light before landing back in Bobby's yard.

"Dean!" Sam dropped the spell ingredients he was putting together and jogged over. "Are you guys okay?"

Dean nodded. "We're fine."

Sam touched Cas's shoulder and looked him over worriedly before shooting a glower over to Balthazar. Yep, he was pissed at being left out of the action.

"And Obadiah?" Sam asked.

"Dead."

Sam let out a breath of relief. "We're just about finished setting up the reversal spell." He gestured to the completed sigil and bowl of ingredients Bobby had taken over mixing.

Cas shivered, and Dean shifted his hold to rub the kid's arm. They needed to get this done. He carried Cas over to the symbol and set him down in the center of it. Cas's eyes were wide and fearful as he traced the lines on the ground.

"You all need to wait inside while I perform the spell," Balthazar mentioned. "It could get…explosive."

Cas's eyes widened even further.

"Hey." Dean crouched down and took him by the shoulders. "Everything will be okay, alright? No matter what happens, Sam and I are here for you. You trust me?"

Cas lifted solemn eyes to his. "I trust you, Dean."

Dean gave him one last reassuring squeeze before tearing himself away. He wanted to stay by Cas's side so the kid wouldn't be scared, but his presence might muck up the spell. So he reluctantly headed inside the house with Sam and Bobby, but moved to peer out the window. Balthazar had gone to kneel in front of Cas, and though Dean had no idea what they were saying, it was the most tenderhearted scene Dean had ever witnessed of the smarmy angel.

Finally, Balthazar stood and retreated to the edge of the sigil. His lips moved with an incantation, and then he tipped the bowl to pour the contents onto the rune. As soon as the liquid touched the lines, they began to glow, running like gleaming rivulets of silver. The gleam intensified, suffusing into an aura that swelled up around Cas. Dean's stomach tightened, and he wanted to run back outside. But the nova burst forth with a blinding flash, and he had to throw his arms up to shield his face as the entire yard was swallowed in the flare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter! I'm sad the story's almost over. But I am working on my next one. ^_^


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Cas to get back to normal, and for me to fix some things between Team Free Will. ;) Shoutout to 29piecesofme for her wonderful beta work.

 

Castiel shifted on the soft surface he was lying on, face scrunching in confusion. The sensation of rising from an abyss of numb nothingness was becoming more familiar than he appreciated. What had he done to end up in such a state?

"Cas?"

Frowning, he pried his eyelids open. There was a crackled ceiling above him, a window to his left letting in a stream of light, and cluttered furniture wedged along the walls around the bed he was in. Balthazar stood with arms crossed, leaning against a dresser.

Castiel blinked. "Is this…Bobby Singer's house?" He started at the coarse rasp in his voice, and immediately began a catalog of his body. His vessel seemed fine, but his grace was sensitive, almost achy. It reminded him of when he'd been blown to a million pieces and put back together…a disconcerting notion.

"Yes," Balthazar replied a little too casually, considering how much he despised being anywhere near the Winchesters. For a split second, Castiel wondered if he should be worried about them…and yet, it didn't feel strange for Balthazar to be here. And _that_ was confusing.

Castiel pushed himself up onto his elbows with a grunt, and stilled when he caught sight of his attire: black denim and a plain, long sleeve blue tee. Clothes never really held any importance to him, but the suit and overcoat had become something of a third skin over the years. And the fact that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten this way was also alarming.

Balthazar let out a huff. "You miss the coat, don't you." It wasn't a question. "I'll get you a new one. Just be thankful I was able to resize those."

Castiel didn't follow, but perhaps that was because he was having trouble focusing. With a grimace, he finished sitting up all the way. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"I…" Castiel's brow furrowed. There was a rather large, blank space in his memory. No, not blank. There were flashes, too brief and distorted to make much sense of. But overlaid were sensations and feelings…things he didn't understand. One thing seemed important though. "Where are the Winchesters?"

Balthazar snorted. "Of course. I told them if they set one foot in this room I would turn them into toads."

Castiel quirked a confused look. "Why?"

"For not telling me they almost let a crazed pagan god nearly drain your grace."

Castiel blinked. Well, that might account for how he was feeling—although, that shouldn't have been possible. "I don't remember anything like that."

Balthazar finally dropped his rigid posture. "That's probably for the best." He shook his head. "You have a knack for getting into trouble, you know that?"

Castiel merely stared at him. What on earth had happened to cause Balthazar and the Winchesters to…well, not call a truce, but to be in the same house without resorting to holy fire and smiting?

When Castiel still didn't speak, Balthazar threw his arms up. "Obadiah betrayed you, for one. Tried to extract the location of the heavenly weapons from your mind."

Now that, Castiel started to have a vague recollection of, and he shuddered at the memory of Obadiah's growing madness and desperation.

"He screwed up though," Balthazar continued. "And you were accidentally turned into a fledgling."

Castiel actually let out a small snort at that. "You're joking."

Balthazar angled a severe look at him, one Castiel hadn't seen in nearly a millennia…not since Castiel had been gravely injured in the early battles against Lucifer. It jolted him to see it now, that mixture of protective, worried brother that Dean often directed at Sam. Castiel turned his gaze inward to search his memory for any indication that what Balthazar said was true. But there were still only flitting glimpses of Sam and Dean, of a park, and maybe wings? His memories might have been missing and confused, but at the thought of the Winchesters, Castiel felt an immense sense of refuge, warmth, and…belonging.

He shook his head. "I…I don't remember. Did the Winchesters…?" He didn't know how to ask it out loud. Had he been with them during this ordeal? How had they reacted? How…how had _he_ reacted?

"Yeah, they watched over you while I searched for a reversal spell," Balthazar admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"Oh." Castiel looked around the room. "How long…?"

"A little less than a week. You've been unconscious for a day since being restored." Balthazar crossed his arms again. "Because those idiot apes forgot to mention your weakened grace from an encounter with Hel."

Castiel opened his mouth to interrupt, but Balthazar waved him off.

"The whore from the Pit. She paid a visit topside when she heard about a fledgling running around."

The sensation of piercing icicles ran through him, but were gone just as quickly, replaced with warmth and the feeling of being held safely in someone's arms. Castiel shook the daze off. The Winchesters must have handled her, since he was obviously not drained. "And Obadiah?"

"Dead," Balthazar replied sharply.

Castiel nodded, even as he felt a pang of grief for yet another lost brother.

"You should take some time," Balthazar spoke again, this time gently. "The troops can hold their own for a bit longer. You've…it was close a few times there, Cas."

A cold feeling settled in his stomach at that, and he was both grateful and frustrated that he could not remember. Castiel pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly under a wave of dizziness. He hadn't felt this weakened since he'd been cut off from Heaven, but at least he knew this was only temporary. Despite the raw edges of his grace, he could feel it slowly knitting back together. However, his initial thought of flying downstairs suddenly didn't seem such a good idea, let alone returning to Heaven.

Castiel looked up to meet Balthazar's gaze. "You'll…take care of things a bit longer?"

The other angel nodded. "Of course." He shook his head and smiled then. "Just try to stay out of trouble for a bit? You're giving my vessel gray hairs."

Castiel's brows knitted together, and he was about to point out that with an angel inhabiting a vessel, the human's body didn't suffer from the aging process, but Balthazar had disappeared. Taking a deep breath, Castiel made his way out of the room and toward the stairs, which had never before seemed so daunting. But as he tentatively flexed his wings, he decided he was definitely not up to flying just yet.

He made his way down slowly. Voices drifted up from the den—Sam and Dean and Bobby.

"He'll be okay," Sam was saying. "You heard Balthazar; he just needs rest."

"We should've waited to do the spell," came Dean's gruff reply. "He was cold and practically having a relapse—"

"And you thought reversing the spell would fix it," Bobby's curmudgeonly voice broke in. "What's done is done; stop beating yourself up over things you can't change."

Castiel finally wound his way into the den. "I concur."

Dean and Sam had been sitting in some chairs at a card table, but both leaped to their feet at his entrance. Bobby just leaned back comfortably in his seat behind the desk, eyeing him curiously.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed. "You're awake."

Castiel quirked a slightly confused, slightly amused brow. "Yes." _Obviously_.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, giving him a thorough once-over.

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but held back his customary 'fine.' "Um, confused. And…sore."

Dean's expression immediately became guarded. "You remember what happened?"

"No." He wasn't sure what emotions passed over Dean's face then—relief? Disappointment? "Balthazar told me I'd been turned into a…fledgling." Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous to his ears, but the Winchesters did not break into humorous grins; they merely exchanged a look.

It was Bobby who spoke up. "Yep. You were a three-and-a-half-foot rugrat for a week."

"Fledglings are not rodents." He would have bristled in indignation if he still wasn't struggling to wrap his brain around the concept. Castiel had to do a double-take on the older hunter's words. "Wait, my vessel also became a child?"

"Heh, yeah," Sam said. "Uh, so you don't remember any of it?"

Castiel couldn't tell if the younger Winchester was also disappointed. "Not…specifically, no. I remember…feelings." If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear an echo of laughter, see a flash of a rare smile on Dean's face, feel the touch of paper. "You…you took care of me," he said in sudden realization. "I…thank you. I'm sure it was quite the inconvenience."

The brothers glanced at each other, another silent conversation passing between them.

"It wasn't a problem, Cas," Sam said. "It was actually…enlightening." He almost sounded as though he was glad it had happened.

Dean rolled his shoulder in discomfort, and Castiel found himself growing frustrated, like all the times Dean spoke in common colloquialisms that Castiel couldn't follow, no matter how hard he tried.

"Dean?"

The Winchester reached up to scratch the back of his head. "It wasn't a problem, Cas," he reiterated, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "And I'm glad you're okay now. We…we were worried after Balthazar did the spell."

Castiel nodded in understanding. "He did seem upset, over something about Hel? I'm sorry he threatened you."

"That asshole," Dean growled under his breath. "But he took off a few times to run interference in Heaven or whatever, and Sam and me were by your side every single minute he wasn't."

Castiel was taken aback by the vehemence in Dean's tone…though not by the declaration that the Winchesters had doggedly stayed at his side. It filled him with a strange sense of deja vu. "Well, thank you, again. I…I suppose I should go now." His chest constricted painfully in a way that took him by surprise; Castiel thought he'd gotten past how much he missed the Winchesters' companionship.

"No," Sam blurted. He shot his brother a pointed look. "There are some things we need to talk about first."

Castiel tensed. "Alright…" They had said his recent…condition, hadn't been a problem, but were they just trying to be polite? No, polite wasn't really in the Winchesters' repertoire. But then what had he done wrong?

Sam turned around to the card table and dug something out of his computer bag. When he turned back, he held up a sheet of paper with a colored drawing. Of the three of them. Castiel stared dumbly at the image for a long moment. He didn't think Sam or Dean had this much skill in drawing, and it certainly wouldn't have been done by Bobby.

Castiel tentatively reached out to take it. "Where…where did you get this?"

Sam grinned. "You drew it. While you were a kid."

Castiel shot him a startled look.

Bobby let out a snort from his desk. "You owe me a memo pad, by the way." He pushed himself out of his chair and retreated to the kitchen.

"Look," Sam continued. "I know everything must sound pretty farfetched and a bit confusing, but there's really only one thing you need to know."

Castiel braced himself.

Sam pointed to the drawing. "You'll always have a place here with us. We're sorry we've only been calling you for help, and never asked you to stick around. I know you want to, and Cas, we want you to."

That…was not at all what he'd been expecting. It must have shown on Castiel's face, because Sam gave him a sad smile.

"And it occurred to me that I never thanked you for raising me from Hell. So thank you, Cas."

Castiel blinked, wondering if he was trapped in some weird dream. Except angels didn't dream. And they didn't get regressed to fledglings. "I, uh, of course." He shifted his weight awkwardly.

Sam elbowed Dean in the ribs, earning himself a scowl. The younger Winchester merely rolled his eyes, gave his brother another meaningful look, and then started to leave. He paused to put a hand on Castiel's shoulder briefly. "Keep that as a reminder," he said, nodding to the drawing. Then he headed toward the kitchen after Bobby.

Castiel glanced between the sheet and Dean. "I seem to be missing some things," he said inadequately.

Dean let out a wry smirk. "I honestly don't know if that makes this harder or easier."

"Dean, if I said or did things…"

"You were fine, Cas. You…" Dean swallowed and glanced over his shoulder as though searching for an escape. "You were a lot more…open about things."

Castiel stiffened, on guard again. "How so?"

Dean finally met his gaze straight on. "Do you really think I only want you around when you're useful?"

Castiel's mouth suddenly felt dry, and he couldn't help dropping his eyes to the drawing in his hand, the drawing that represented his innermost secret desire. He was an angel, and yet he wanted to feel more at home with a couple of hunters than he did his own family.

"Because it's not true," Dean barreled on before Castiel could even form a response. "Sam's right; we haven't done a good job showing you you're wanted. But you are."

There was a lump in his throat now, along with an inexplicable sense of _rightness_ to what Dean said, an echo of a memory he couldn't quite grasp.

"Sam asked you to draw that. As a reminder, like he said."

Castiel's head was reeling. "I…I'm sorry I don't remember."

"That's okay." He reached for a notebook on the table. No, not a notebook, a sketchbook. "This is yours."

Castiel took it gingerly, careful not to crinkle the loose sheet of paper in his hand as he flipped the sketchpad open. The first several pages were full of more drawings of Sam and Dean, even Bobby. And though he didn't remember making them, he could tell they'd all been done by the same hand.

"You loved drawing," Dean said, uncharacteristically soft. "Is…is it something you've always liked doing?"

Castiel ran a finger reverently down one page. "I…suppose it was. A long time ago."

"Why'd you stop?"

Castiel was silent for a long moment, lost in old memories he did remember, and yet seemed oddly fuzzy. He gently closed the book and handed it back. "There's no place for such things in war."

Dean looked down at the sketchbook, and then back up at him. "Alright, well, we'll hold onto this for you. And…and any time you want a break, or some time away to clear your head, you can come use it. No war, no helping us out on hunts, just to hang out."

"I…I think I would like that."

Dean nodded, and set the sketchpad aside. "And Cas…I know I've never shown any interest in this war you're fighting. I'm sorry. If you need help—if you want help, I'm here. I've called on you often enough, it's your turn for a change."

Castiel's stomach tightened. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't…but he so desperately wanted to. And something inside him was urging him to open up, to admit the truth. Though, to what end? Dean would never approve of Castiel consorting with a demon.

_"The ends don't justify the means."_

Castiel briefly closed his eyes, unsure where the echo came from, but clearly hearing Dean's voice. He did not want to become like Obadiah, blinded by singleminded purpose, no matter how just he believed his cause. Castiel could try to convince himself that he was different because he wasn't threatening others, he was only targeting Raphael, but it was a flimsy excuse and he knew it.

He swallowed hard. "Actually, Dean, I…I am conflicted, about the…methods I've been using in this war."

Dean nodded slowly. "Okay. Tell me and we'll figure it out." He pulled one of the chairs around and sat, folding his hands in his lap with expectant patience.

Castiel hesitated. Was he doing the right thing? Dean would certainly be furious, and that previous invitation of fellowship would be revoked. Castiel would find himself worse off than he'd been when he _was_ just a tool to the humans he cared about more than anything.

Doubt was quickly threatening to overwhelm him and make him lose his nerve, but a burst of warmth filled his chest in response, along with the echo of words he couldn't quite distinguish, but the sentiment was clear: _No matter what happens, I'm here for you. Do you trust me?_

"I trust you, Dean," he found himself saying, and then proceeded to lay out all the dark secrets he'd been carrying around for the past year. Yes, there was anger, but there was understanding as well, and support. Dean intended to keep his promise—they would figure it out. Together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who followed this story! Your engagement makes the experience of writing and sharing all the more fulfilling. :)
> 
> Next week comes a brand new story, an AU of 5x19 Hammer of the Gods where Lucifer doesn't kill Gabriel, but takes him prisoner...along with our other favorite angel Lucifer found after Cas used the banishing sigil on himself. Lots of angelic brotherly bonding to be had, along with whump. :D Hope to see you there!


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